855 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

<• 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


CALIF.  FICTION 
COLLECTION 
NOT  FOR  USE 


A 


' 


OF 


R  fragmentary  tale 

Half  told  and  half  inferred. 
Rs  full  of  sighs  and  heartache  tones 

Rs  song  of  prisoned  bird. 


CARRIE    STEVENS    ^WRITER, 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 
ERA  COMPANY,  420  MONTGOMEEY  ST. 
1886. 


All  rights  reserved. 
GOLDEN  ERA  COMPANY. 


TO 

MY    CHILDREN,. 

WILLIAM,  MARY,  ROY  ^  DELLn, 

Whnss  loving  faith  has  been  my  inspiration, 

and  my  lifs's  anchcr,  this  little 

brain  waif  is  Ini/ingly 

dedicated, 


NIGHTFALL  AT  SANTA  BARBARA, 


A  precious  amber  vase  just  filled  from  elysian  fountains 

Whose  sacred  libation  is  poured  to  the  year's  expiring  ember, — 

A  chalice  whose  wine  is  spilled  over  ocean  and  islands  and  mountains — 
Is  the  close  of  this  perfect  day  of  our  California  December. 

Like  ghosts  of  the  Past  stand  the  towers,  cross-tipped,  of  the  Church  of  the  Mission, 
While  closer  and  closer  the  shadows  creep  round  them  like  stricken  things ; 

The  shadows — that  seem  like  the  souls  of  the  years  that  have  bowed  at  its  altar, 
Or  like  land  birds  blown  out  over  ocean,  that  droop  their  desolate  wings. 


PART  I. 

Where  the  roses'  rich  gifts  are  completes!, 
Where  sea-winds  kiss  odorous  trees, 

Where  Song's  liquid  numbers  are  sweetest, 
Santa  Barbara  looks  out  o'er  the  seas. 


ERE  are  the  letters,  just  as  they  were 
put  away  almost  twenty  years  ago,  yel- 
lowed by  time, — the  blue  cord  that  held 
them,  faded  and  worn.  There  is  no  reason 
to  withhold  their  contents  now,  for  the 
hearts  whose  pulse-beats  their  faded  char- 
acters chronicled,  are  stilled  forever. 

A  slender  shaft  at  Lone  Mountain,  be- 
neath which  rests  the  fair  golden  head  of 
her  who  was  dearer  to  me  than  a  sister ; 
a  cross-marked  grave  in  Spain,  that  lies 
adjacent  to  a  famous  cholera  hospital  with- 
in the  walls  of  which  a  noble  life  was 
nobly  ended  in  the  cause  of  suffering 

humanity, — these  will    not  be  affected  if    I  tell  the  story  of   the 

letters. 

Memory  takes  me  back  over  the  years  that  are  gone,  to  the  day  I 

saw  her  last — my  dearest  friend,  Agnes  Lee.     Her  image   is   before 


me  as  vividly  to-day  as  it  was  the  day  I  bade  her  "good-bye"  on 
the  Santa  Barbara  steamer  that  carried  her  from  me  forever.  She 
went  to  spend  a  year  in  that  southern  city  ;  before  the  year  had 
passed,  I  was  called  suddenly  to  my  eastern  home,  and  we  never 
met  again.  Let  me  shut  my  eyes  and  recall  her  image  as  she 
stood  on  the  deck  of  the  old  Orizaba ;  her  slender  form  outlined 
against  the  background  of  wave  and  sky  ;  her  gracefully  poised  head 
with  its  mass  of  golden  hair  ;  the  luminous  grey  eyes,  that  were 
fitting  windows  of  the  pure,  noble  soul  within ;  the  tender,  sensitive 
mouth  that  must  have  love  or  suffer ;  the  delicate  hands  that 
clasped  those  of  her  two  children,  Paul  and  Mary,  as  though  they 
were  the  anchors  of  her  life — as  they  were.  A  pure,  true  woman, 
capable  of  deep  feeling,  of  happiness,  or  suffering. 

In  her  early  girlhood  she  had  married  Captain  Lee.  I  could 
never  understand  why  she  did  so.  It  was  one  of  those  incongruous 
unions  that  we  see  sometimes,  the  sight  of  which  gives  one  the  heart- 
ache. He  was  a  stern,  cold,  undemonstrative  man,  born  to  com- 
mand, recognizing  no  course  of  conduct  from  those  around  him  but 
obedience  to  his  will.  Agnes'  nature  was  such  that  she  would  be  a 
faithful,  dutiful  wife,  under  almost  any  circumstances  ;  yet  there  were 
moments  when  I  fancied  I  detected  faint  scintillations  of  a  Vesuvius 
in  her  soul,  of  which  she  was  utterly  unconscious, — poor  child  !  And 
I  trembled  lest  she  should  encounter  in  her  life  journey  an  electric 
force  that  would  break  the  seals  of  her  soul's  deepest  fountains. 
Then— God  help  her  ! 

Two  living  children,  and  a  little  grave  at  Lone  Mountain — these 
were  the  fruits  of  the  twelve  years  of  her  married  life. 

And  now,  during  his  absence  in  China,  Captain  Lee  was   sending 


Agnes  and  the  two  children  to  Santa  Barbara.  She  was  never  very 
robust,  and  the  climate  would  benefit  her.  She  was  devoted  to  art, 
and  her  brush  and  pencil  would  find  ample  scope  for  their  most 
inspired  expressions  in  this  lovely  region. 

And  thus  we  parted,  she,  with  many  regrets  that  I  could  not  share 
her  journey,  with  many  promises  to  write  me,  almost  daily,  in  the 
form  of  a  iournal,  her  impressions  of  the  scenery  and  people;  and 
I,  with  a  keen  foreboding,  only  too  sadly  realized,  that  our  parting 
was  forever. 

And  now,  I  will  let  her  letters  and  journal  tell  the  story.  I  open 
the  first  : 

"SANTA  BARBARA,  June  i,  18 — 

"  MY  DEAREST  FRIEND  :  '  Oh  !  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  ir  June  ?  ' 
I  never  realized  the  full  meaning  of  that  line  until  I  came  here.  I 
wish  I  could  photograph  this  lovely  scene  upon  your  vision,  Kate, 
and  make  you  so  enamored  of  its  witchery  that  you  would  desert  the 
bleaker  North  for  this  warm,  delicious  South.  We  anchored — yes, 
literally  anchored — in  Santa  Barbara  harbor  last  Sunday,  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  So  lovely  a  crescent  of  soft,  undulating 
waters,  imprisoning,  in  its  ardent  embrace,  such  glorious  lights  and 
shades,  caught  from  the  admiring  sky  overhead,  and  all  framed  in 
such  greenness  of  landscape,  such  golden  brownness  of  hills,  over 
which  palpitates,  as  a  living  presence,  the  warm,  magnetic  atmosphere 
— all  these  surely  are  not  found  anywhere  else  upon  the  earth.  Paul 
and  Mary  were  fairly  wild  with  enjoyment,  which  culminated  when  a 
dear  little  row-boat  was  let  down  from  the  steamer's  side,  and  we  took 
our  seats  in  it  to  go  on  shore. 


"  After  rowing  about  a  mile  we  landed  on  a  wharf  extending  a  few 
rods  from  the  shore,  and  found  carriages  waiting  to  convey  us  to  the 
city  proper.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as  we  drove  up  State  street, 
and  the  whole  warm,  delicious  atmosphere  was  luminous  with  the 
rich  caressing  radiance  so  peculiar  to  the  southern  climate.  State 
street  is  a  broad  avenue  on  each  side  of  which  are  great,  roomy, 
private  mansions  with  their  wide  corridors  and  open  windows,  half 
hidden  by  roses  and  pepper  trees.  This  latter  is  the  most  graceful 
thing  I  ever  saw  in  the  form  of  a  tree,  with  its  dainty,  lace-like 
foliage,  and  its  true  home  is  in  the  south. 

"  The  people  were  all  on  the  streets,  I  imagine,  enjoying  the  love- 
liness of  the  evening.  As  we  drove  through  its  length  we  observed 
them  with  interest  You  know  the  inhabitants  are  mostly  Spanish 
and  native  Californians.  The  ladies  were  bare-headed,  or  wore 
only  lace  shawls  over  their  heads,  put  on  in  that  inimitable  manner 
peculiar  to  the  Spanish  women,  who  are  always  graceful,  and  always 
attractive — to  me. 

"  At  many  doors  were  seated  groups,  from  which  almost  invariably 
came  the  sound  of  the  guitar  accompanying  some  Spanish  song.  The 
Spanish  song  is  almost  always  an  ardent,  passionate  appeal,  half  reli- 
gion and  all  love,  and  I  think  some  of  the  airs  the  most  syren-like  I 
ever  heard.  The  atmosphere  is  always  rich  with  the  odor  of  roses 
and  other  fragrant  blossoms,  the  sound  of  music  is  seldom  stilled ; 
the  nights  are  lovelier  than  one  can  imagine  who  has  never  been  in 
the  South — and,  dear,  I  believe  we  will  be  very  happy  and  contented 
here.  We  are  to  live  in  the  family  of  Don  Ramon  Carillo,  an  old 
friend  of  Captian  Lee.  The  family  consists  of  eight  children,  besides 
an  unlimited  number  of  cousins  and  other  relatives,  to  the  forty -first 


remove — for  they  believe  in  ties  of  blood,  these  warm-hearted,  hospi- 
table people.  These,  with  a  large  retinue  of  servants,  make  quite  a 
community  in  itself. 

"  The  house  was  an  old-fashioned  adobe  >  originally,  but  has  been 
remodeled  somewhat  after  a  more  modern  fashion.  The  rooms  are 
immense.  Let  me  describe  them  to  you.  On  the  first  floor  are  all 
the  living  rooms,  including  a  large  room  for  dancing  and  evening 
amusements,  furnished  with  two  pianos,  besides  any  number  of 
guitars  and  other  musical  instruments. 

"  The  floors  are  all  guiltless  of  that  abomination  of  civilization,  the 
filth-harboring  woolen  carpet ;  but  the  painted  floors  are  as  clean  as 
they  can  be,  and  soft  rugs  and  mats  are  thrown  down  wherever  they 
can  do  the  most  good.  Our  sleeping  rooms  are  on  the  second  floor, 
and  are  great,  wide,  airy  apartments  that  are  delightfully  comfortable. 
Mine  contains  a  large  bed,  and  two  small  ones  for  the  children  ;  and 
it  has,  oh !  I  don't  know  how  many  windows  opening  upon  the  cor- 
ridor outside.  We  have  only  to  step  outside  of  our  room  to  reach 
the  loveliest  climbing  roses  you  ever  saw, — great,  golden-hearted, 
satin-petaled  masses  of  fragrance  and  beauty  that  give  me  exquisite 
pleasure.  We  have  roses  in  unlimited  quantities  in  our  room  all  the 
time,  for  Anita,  the  maid  who  has  the  care  of  it,  knows  my  passion  for 
flowers,  and  together  with  the  children,  keeps  the  vases  always  freshly 
filled.  And  the  children — I  wish  you  could  see  their  enjoyment  ! 
The  only  thing  to  mar  their  perfect  bliss  is  the  fact  that  figs  and 
grapes  are  not  ripe  yet.  Yes — let  me  repeat  my  former  assertion — I 
believe  we  shall  be  very  happy  and  contented  here. 

"  JUNE  6th. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  Kate,  I  should  certainly  fall  deliberately  in  love 


with  Rose  Carillo,  who  is  the  loveliest  creature*!  ever  saw.  She  is 
Don  Ramon's  eldest  daughter,  and  his  idol,  of  course.  She  is  in  her 
nineteenth  year,  and  it  would  seem  that  Southern  beauty  and  grace 
had  found  their  personification  in  her.  Tall,  with  a  form  ex- 
quisitely molded,  every  motion  of  which  is  grace,  her  face  a 
dainty  oval,  with  that  rich,  olive  complexion  peculiar  to  her  race — 
for  Don  Ramon  is  a  native  of  old  Castile — her  hair  a  luxuriant  mass 
of  satin  blackness,  that  falls  almost  to  her  feet  when  she  stands  erect. 
But  her  eyes— great,  wondrous  orbs,  that  melt  or  burn  as  the  mood 
of  the  spirit  behind  them  prompts — these  are  her  chief  glory.  She 
is  a  queen,  an  empress,  among  women. 

How  attractive  these  dark  people  are  to  me  !  I  presume  it  is 
always  the  case  with  us  red-haired  sensitives.  I  think  I  was  first 
attracted  to  you,  Kate,  because  you  are  so  delightfully  brown. 

"  Don  Ramon  is  a  courtly  Spanish  gentleman  of  the  old  school ; 
his  wife,  the  Dona  Inez,  is  a  sweet,  gentle,  motherly  soul,  who  pets 
and  cuddles  her  children,  worships  her  husband,  and  fulfills  all  her 
duties  according  to  the  standard  of  her  race.  The  children  are  a 
happy  lot  of  lads  and  lasses,  all  pretty,  and  all  lovingly  devoted  to 
*  papa  '  and  '  mama  '  and  each  other.  Rose  and  her  father  speak 
English  perfectly  ;  in  fact,  Rose  has  been  well  educated,  having 
passed  some  time  at  school  in  San  Francisco.  Dona  Inez  does  not 
speak  English  at  all,  and  the  children  only  slightly  ;  so  you  see  I 
shall  be  compelled  to  brush  up  the  Spanish  lessons  of  my  school- 
days. I  believe  I  can  conquer  the  musical  cadences  of  the  language 
in  a  short  time,  as  Rose  has  taken  me  in  hand  as  a  pupil,  and  I  am 
to  give  her  lessons  in  painting. 


"  JUNE  i2TH. 

"  But  a  genuine  Spanish  baile,  Kate,  is  a  most  delightful  affair. 
Yesterday  was  Rose's  birthday,  and  Don  Ramon  made  a  party  in 
her  honor.  The  true  Spaniard  takes  time  for  enjoyment,  and  has 
no  patience  with  us  hard-working  Yankees. 

"  The  great  dancing  room  was  one  garden  of  flowers.  The  Santa 
Barbara  band,  composed  entirely  of  native  Californians,  was  ordered 
for  the  occasion  ;  and  for  a  day  or  two,  troops  of  servants  were 
running  hither  and  yon,  preparing  the  banquet  for  the  evening.  Gay 
lanterns  were  distributed  through  the  grounds,  for  the  promenading 
and  chatting  between  dances  were  to  be  done  out  of  doors  to  a  great 
extent.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  little  marble  stand  on 
which  were  placed  several  baskets  containing  egg  shells,  from  which 
the  contents  had  been  carefully  removed,  and  the  shells  filled  with 
gilt  and  various  colored  paper  cut  as  fine  as  possible.  These  were 
great  mysteries  to  Paul  and  Mary,  who  waited  with  much  curiosity 
until  evening,  to  see  of  what  possible  use  egg  shells  could  be  at  a 
party. 

"  There  was  a  large  company  of  the  very  elite  of  the  Spanish 
society,  together  with  several  American  families.  There  were  many 
pretty  girls,  but  my  gorgeous  Rose  surpassed  them  all,  as  much  as 
her  name- flower  surpasses  the  field  poppy.  She  was  resplendent  in  a 
dress  of  pale  pink  silk.  Her  eyes  were  luminous  as  suns.  Through 
all  the  mazes  of  the  graceful  Spanish  quadrille  she  seemed  the  em- 
bodiment of  the  poetry  of  motion.  My  delight  was  in  watching  her 
throughout  the  evening.  She  has  conceived  a  warm  attachment  for 
me,  and  playfully  calls  me  her  'Saint  Agnes,'  or  as  she  often  puts  it, 
'Santita  mia.J 


"  The  dancing  continues  at  a  Spanish  baile,  until  the  dancers 
become  weary,  then  all  rest  for  half  an  hour  or  longer,  occupying 
the  time  in  chatting,  singing  or  promenading.  At  such  intervals  we 
saw  the  use  of  those  mysterious  egg-shells — cascarones,  as  they  are 
called  in  Spanish.  A  gentleman  desires  to  express  his  admiration 
for  a  lady,  or  compliment  her ;  he,  therefore,  takes  one  of  these  cas- 
carones  and  breaks  it  over  her  head,  the  minced  paper  falling  in  a 
rainbow  shower  over  her  hair.  The  belles  of  the  evening  thus 
presented  a  very  parti-colored  appearance  before  the  baile  was 
over.  Paul  and  Mary  were  immensely  amused  with  all  they  saw. 
They  are  beginning  to  say  many  words  in  Spanish,  and  I  doubt  not, 
will  learn  to  speak  the  language  before  our  year  is  ended. 

"  But  I  am  worried  about  Rose,  dear.  Perhaps  I  am  foolish,  but 
I  feel  anxious  in  spite  of  myself.  A  frequent  caller  at  the  house  is  a 
lawyer  by  the  name  of  Charles  Howard.  He  is  Don  Ramon's  legal 
adviser,  and,  therefore,  has  a  good  reason  for  his  calls,  as  business 
is  nearly  always  the  excuse.  He  is  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty  years  of 
age,  who  some  ten  years  ago  was  drawn  into  a  marriage  with  a  woman 
much  older  than  himself.  She  is  not  his  equal  intellectual!^,  and  I 
do  not  imagine  their  married  life  is  of  the  most  loving  sort.  He  is 
one  of  those  golden  haired  Apollos,  that  my  dark-eyed  Rose  would 
fancy  in  spite  of  herself.  He  danced  with  her  several  times  last 
night,  and  I  fancied  I  saw  a  brighter  look  in  her  eyes,  and  a  richer 
color  on  her  cheeks  when  she  was  with  him.  I  wish  he  would  keep 
away  from  her. 

"  He  has  two  pretty  little  children  to  whom  he  is  devotedly 
attached.  His  wife  is  a  good  mother,  it  is  said, — and  I  don't  see 
why  he  cannot  stay  at  home  with  his  family.  However,  his  wife  and 


children  were  present  last  evening.  I  dont  like  her.  She  is  a  small, 
common  nature, — and — oh  !  dear,  I  don't  know  what  I  dread. 
But  he  is  a  very  attractive  man,  of  superior  intelligence,  and  a  thor- 
ough gentleman  in  every  particular  of  manner  and  speech. 

"  Maybe  I'm  tired  and  nervous  to-night.  I  guess  I'll  go  to  bed 
and  sleep  off  my  fears.  Rose  has  just  come  in  for  a  moment's  good- 
night chat.  She  takes  my  face  between  her  hands,  turns  it  up  to  her 
while  she  kisses  me  and  says,  « Buena  noche,  Santita  mia,  you  are 
tired  ;  sleep  as  late  as  possible  to-morrow  morning ;' — and  I  will. 

"  Good  night,  darling. 

"  YOUR  AGNES." 


PART  II. 

Among  the  silver  threads  of  Life, 

So  closely  twine  Love's  golden  strands, 

That  when  we  loose  their  clinging  hold, 
The  fabric  crumbles  in  our  hands. 


"  SANTA  BARBARA,  July  5th. 

E  celebrated  'our  glorious  Independence,'  yester- 
day, with  a  picnic  down  the  coast.  I  wish  you 
could  have  been  with  us,  dear.  There  were  few 
beside  the  members  of  Don  Ramon's  family.  By 
the  way,  there  have  been  two  additions  to  our 
family  circle  within  the  past  few  days,  of  whom 
I  must  tell  you.  The  first  under  consideration  is 
Colonel  Horton,  an  old  acquaintance  of  Captain  Lee.  I  believe 
he  has  been  in  several  Indian  campaigns,  and  is  quite  a  hero  in  the 
eyes  of  civilians.  He  has  a  tall,  military  figure,  and  the  manners  of 
a  king  ;  commanding,  yet  polished  and  courteous.  His  black  hair, 
and  heavy,  dark  moustache  are  sprinkled  with  gray,  while  his  deep 
gray  eyes  are  shaded  by  heavy,  black  brows.  He  has  one  of  those 
firm,  square  chins  that  always  indicate  strength  of  character,  and 
there  is  something  about  the  man  that  interests  one. 

"  The  other  person  is  a  brother  of  Don  Ramon,  who  has  lately 
come  from  Spain.  He,  also,  is  quite  a  character.  For  many  years 
he  was  one  of  the  leading  physicians  of  Madrid,  and  in  the  pursuit 


II 

of  his  profession  was  brought  in  contact  with  nearly  every  form  of 
suffering  humanity.  His  whole  energies  were  given  to  his  work,  and 
to  the  relief  of  the  afflicted.  He  seemed  so  impressed  with  the  idea 
of  working  solely  for  humanity,  that,  a  few  years  ago,  he  took  holy 
orders,  and  was  ordained  a  priest,  devoting  his  life  to  the  work  of 
aiding  the  afflicted,  not  only  as  a  physician,  but  in  other  ways.  All 
this  Rose  told  me  of  him  before  I  met  him,  so  you  may  imagine  I 
watched  him  with  some  interest. 

"  Father  Antonio,  as  he  is  called,  is  rather  below  the  medium  in 
height,  with  the  olive  complexion  peculiar  to  his  race.  His  dark  eyes 
are  singularly  expressive,  varying  with  his  mood  in  a  fashion  peculiarly 
characteristic.  They  flashed  like  flames  the  other  day,  at  some  tale 
of  wrong  and  outrage,  and  I  thought  I  should  always  stand  in  awe 
of  their  owner.  Yet,  soon  afterwards,  a  little  child  of  our  party  fell 
on  the  rocks,  and  was  badly  hurt ;  Father  Antonio  sprang  to  her  as- 
sistance at  once,  and  while  aiding  him  to  relieve  her  pain,  I  acci- 
dentally encountered  his  glance.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  before  saw 
an  expression  of  such  sweetness  and  tenderness  in  human  eyes.  He 
seems  singularly  self-forgetful,  yet  is  rather  reserved  and  reticent  in  a 
manner  that  gives  one  the  impression  of  haughtiness. 

"  Well !  Kate,  how  I  have  gossiped  about  our  new-comers  !  I  know 
you  will  smile  at  my  letter.  But,  remember,  our  life  is  so  quiet  here, 
that  even  trifling  incidents  assume  proportions  of  importance.  This 
must  be  my  excuse. 

"  We  went  down  the  Coast  in  carriages  as  far  as  Rincon  Point, 
where  there  is  a  stage  station.  Then  fires  were  built  and  we  had  a 
clam-bake, — all  of  which  was  very  pleasant.  The  children  enjoyed 
the  bliss  of  running  through  the  waves  with  bare  feet,  which,  of 


12 

course,  is  a  new  experience  to  Paul  and  Mary.  They  are  becoming 
regular  little  Spaniards.  It  would  amuse  you  to  hear  them  chatter 
the  language.  They  say  nothing  in  English  that  they  can  possibly 
twist  into  this  musical  idiom. 

"  This  life  is  very  restful  and  pleasant  to  me,  Kate.  It  seems  a 
leaf  from  Bohemia,  and  I  dread  the  thought  of  ever  returning  to  a 
practical,  matter-of-fact  existence  again.  Did  I  tell  you  Mr.  Howard, 
that  lawyer  I  mentioned  before,  was  of  our  picnic  party  ?  He  came 
out  on  horseback  after  we  had  arrived  at  the  grounds.  I  watched 
him  closely.  I  don't  know  what  he  means  by  keeping  with  Rose  so 
much.  I  do  not  like  it ;  and  yet,  somehow,  I  feel  that  he  is  not  a 
dishonorable  man.  And  Rose, — dear  girl — I  watched  her  every 
glance  and  expression  jealously,  and  I  feel  that  she  is  much  interested 
in  him,  more  than  she  realizes.  I  want  to  snatch  her  in  my  arms 
and  run  away  with  her.  She  had  her  guitar  with  her,  to  which  she 
sings  divinely  these  bewildering  Spanish  songs.  One,  whose  air 
is  the  most  impassioned  I  ever  heard,  she  has  promised  to  put 
into  English  for  me  some  time.  There  is  something  in  these 
Spanish  songs,  with  the  guitar  accompaniment,  that  arouses  all  the 
instincts  of  the  tropics  in  one's  nature  ;  they  draw  my  heart  through 
my  eyes,  in  tears,  and  I  want  to  run  away  from  myself. 

"  Rose  has  just  come  to  my  door,  and  in  her  pretty  liquid  tones 
called  to  me  '  Santita,  we  are  going  to  take  you  on  a  famous  trip 
to-morrow.  We  are  all  going  up  in  the  hills  beyond  the  town,  on 
horseback,  and  you  can  make  some  lovely  sketches  while  we  are 
resting.  You  know  we  Espanoles  never  forget  to  rest  when  it  is  nee. 
essary.' 


"  I  reply,  '  What,  Rose,  all  of  you  ?  Do  you  mean  your  mother  and 
all  the  muchachitos  ?  ' 

"'What  nonsense  !' she  replies,  laughing;  {I  mean  papa,  Col. 
Horton,  Uncle  Antonio,  you  and  I,  and  I  believe  papa  has  invited 
Mr.  Howard  to  be  of  the  party.'  This  latter  clause  was  spoken  with 
a  hightened  color,  which  my  keen  glance  did  not  tend  to  relieve. 

"July  25th. 

"  How  good  these  people  are  to  me,  Kate !  Each  seems  to  vie 
with  the  other  in  making  my  life  as  pleasant  as  possible.  I  seem  to 
live  in  a  dream  of  southern  glory.  Sunshine,  brighter  than  you  have 
ever  seen  in  your  northern  home ;  the  beauty  and  fragrance  of  ever- 
blooming  flowers ;  music,  almost  without  cessation  ;  and  moonlight 
nights  that  remind  one  of  the  vale  of  Cashmere — isn't  that  a  list  of 
attractions  to  arouse  your  envy  ?  Our  life  has  been  a  constant  rou- 
tine of  walks,  drives,  or  horseback  rides  during  the  past  three  weeks, 
and  we  have  all  become  wonderfully  good  friends  during  these  days 
in  which  the  conventionalities  have  been  somewhat  ignored.  For 
you  know,  one  cannot  take  the  strictest  rules  of  etiquette  into  the 
woods,  or  sailing  on  the  water,  when  the  waves  are  liable  to  give  him 
a  playful  wetting.  Father  Antonio  occasionally  accompanies  us,  but 
he  is  much  occupied  during  the  day,  and  does  not  often  join  our 
circle  until  evening.  Col.  Horton  is  very  kind  and  thoughtful. 
His  acquaintance  with  Captain  Lee  gives  him  the  privileges  of  an 
old  friend  to  me  and  the  children. 

And  yet,  I  have  come  away  from  the  happy  party  down  stairs, 
to-night,  dear  friend,  to  commune  with  you,  because  my  heart  is  so 
lull  of  memories  that  I  shall  suffocate  unless  I  feel  the  clasp  of  your 
spirit-hand  ajittle  while,  and  the  benediction  of  your  love.  You 


M 

know  this  is  the  anniversary  of  my  baby's  death,  and  also  of  my 
marriage.  Oh  !  my  precious  baby !  Must  I  wait  until  I  put  off  this 
weary  thralldom  of  the  flesh  before  I  can  again  hold  his  beloved  form 
to  my  heart,  or  feel  the  caressing  of  his  little  hands  ?  Kate,  Kate  ! 
I'm  all  at  sea  to-night.  As  I  pace  the  long  room  like  a  caged 
animal,  I  feel  that  there  is  much  of  the  caged  animal  in  my  nature. 
I'm  afraid  of  myself.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  to-night  as  I  never  yet 
have  spoken  to  any  one,  and  as  I  could  speak  to  no  one  but  you  ;  for 
in  all  my  life,  since  I  have  known  you, 

'  I  never  turned  round  and  missed  you 
From  my  side  in  one  hour  of  affliction  or  doubt.' 

I  know,  in  the  genuine  battles  of  life,  there  is  no  help  for  us  from  any 
source  but  the  Divine.  Those  who  love  us  can  only  stand  by  and 
pray  for  us  in  the  greatest  extremities  of  our  lives.  You  have  guessed 
without  my  telling,  that  away  back  in  the  days  of  romantic  girlhood, 
I  staked  all  in  life  upon  the  hope  of  love  and  kindness  and  domestic 
happiness.  I  do  not  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  mistakes,  else  I  might 
use  the  term  in  connection  with  my  life.  Destiny  had  other  uses  for 
me,  I  presume,  that  were  inconsistent  with  the  gratification  of  the 
strong  woman  nature  that  demanded  so  much.  The  highest  standard 
of  life  is  duty.  I  know  those  four  letters  are  seared  upon  my 
heart.  I  only  ask  God  and  his  angels  to  help  me  to  perform  my 
whole  duty  unflinchingly  to  the  happy  end  of  life. 

"  Dear,  love  meant  so  much  to  me  that  was  high,  pure  and  divine 
The  ideal  reached  the  clouds — no,  not  clouds,  but  beyond  the  clouds 
into  the  heavenly  ether.     That    ideal  I  cling    to    as    my  salvation 
There  is,  in  some  far  distant  stage  of  existence,  the  realization  of  our 


grandest  ideals,  else  creation  were  a  lie.  Whatever  may  be  the 
design  of  these  long  years  of  starvation,  I  believe  the  whole  plan  is 
right  and  good.  I  also  believe  that  some  day,  in  another  life — never 
in  this — I  shall  encounter  the  grand  nature  that  only  can  realize  the 
ideal. 

"  There  is  no  such  reality  here.  I  live  for  that  far  distant  time, 
and  in  the  intervening  ages  in  which  I  am  becoming  worthy  of  that 
hour,  I  pray  for  strength  to  do  nothing  that  may  mar  or  retard  the 
completeness  of  it.  I  know  there  is  in  my  nature  a  depth  that  can 
never  be  fathomed  here  ;  I  know  this  perfectly,  therefore  I  walk  in 
armor.  And  yet  I  come  back  to  what  I  said  in  the  beginning,  '  I 
am  afraid  of  myself  at  times.'  Pray  for  me,  dear  girl ;  I  know  it 
will  aid  me.  Forgive  this  wild  letter,  and  do  not  misunderstand  me  ; 
you  never  did.  Your  faith  and  love  are  my  refuge,  Kate — Good 
night. 

"  AUGUST  8th. 

"  Such  trouble  as  I  have  been  having  with  Rose  !  I  don't  know 
what  I  am  going  to  do  with  the  dear  girl,  more  than  to  try  my  best  to 
hold  her  firmly  in  the  right  course.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story. 
Yesterday  afternoon  I  was  alone  in  the  sitting-room,  finishing  a  sketch 
from  memory  that  I  had  taken  of  the  old  Mission  Church.  For 
some  reason  there  was  no  one  else  at  home  but  Rose  and  the  servants. 
I  was  working  with  no  thought  on  anything  but  my  work,  when  she 
came  into  the  room  and  stood  beside  me,  with  one  arm  thrown  around 
me.  Finally  she  spoke  with  hesitation,  half  playfully  : 

"  '  Santita,  you  remember  I  promised  you  a  translation  of  that 
song,  the  air.of  which  you  like  so  well.  "  Un  adios"  it  is  called, 
only  I  have  re-christened  it  "Tempest-Tossed."  ' 


i6 

" '  Yes,'  I  replied,  interestedly,  putting  down  my  brush  ; '  I  am  very 
anxious  to  hear  the  words  of  that  song.  The  air  thrills  me  so  strangely 
that  I  am  sure  the  words  must  have  some  hidden  power,  also.  I  am 
not  sufficiently  advanced  in  my  Spanish  studies  to  be  able  to  get  the 
real  meaning  of  the  poetry.  Have  you  translated  your  "  Tempest- 
Tossed  "  for  me,  Rose  ? ' 

"  '  Si,  hermanita^ — wasn't  I  industrious  to  do  so  when  you  know  I 
don't  like  work?  But  this  is  just  for  you  alone,  and  I  do  not  want 
any  one  else  to  seek.' 

"There  was  something  nervous  and  constrained  in  her  manner, 
although  she  tried  to  seem  careless  and  indifferent,  as  she  handed  me 
a  folded  paper. 

" c  Oh  !  Rose,  I  am  tired,'  I  said ;  '  can  you  not  complete  your 
kindness  by  reading  the  song  to  me?  I  shall  appreciate  it  much 
more.' 

"'Why,  yes,  dear;  if  you  wish  it  very  much,'  and  she  took  a 
foot-stool  at  my  feet,  while  I  leaned  back  in  my  easy  chair  and 
watched  her.  My  heart  was  filled  with  admiration  and  love  for  the 
beautiful  girl,  and  I  was  thinking  more  of  her,  than  of  her  reading, 
when  something  in  the  words  arrested  my  attention,  and  I  listened 
with  a  great  heartache  for  her.  But  let  me  give  you  the  impassioned 
verses,  just  as  she  read  them  in  her  low,  musical  fashion,  trembling 
and  hesitating  sometimes,  but  reading  to  the  close.  This  is  the 
song: 

TEMPEST   TOSSED. 

What  does  it  mean,  this  tyrant  spell  that  holds  me 

A  captive  in  its  chains  ; 
That  thrills  my  wayward  heart  with  strong  emotion, — 

Love's  passion, — and  its  pains? 


'7 

Oh,  restless  soul  !  that  beats  Life's  bars  unceasing, — 

A  tiger  held  in  thrall  ! 
Oh,  passion's  surge  !  that  would  engulf  calm  reason 

And  give  to  Love  Life's  all. 

Can  I  not  curb  the  strong,  defiant  feeling 

That  struggles  in  my  soul, 
And  scorns  all  forms  and  laws  that  cold  convention 

Would  frame  in  Love's  control  ? 

I  strive — in  vain  ;  for  all  that  Life  could  grant  me, 

Or  Hope's  bright  vision  greet, 
My  passionate  heart  would, — haughty  as  an  empress, — 

Fling  proudly  at  your  feet, 

And  ask  no  gift  from  you  in  compensation, 

No  love-thrill  in  return. 
My  own — unsought — from  Life's  rich  depths  must  greet  me, 

All  else  my  heart  must  spurn. 

I  bear  no  thought  of  shame  for  this  strong  passion 

Of  my  best  womanhood  ; 
Love  bears  God's  seal,  and  its  divine  expression 

Is  always  pure  and  good. 

You  are  to  me  the  noblest  realization 

Of  manhood,  grand  and  true, 
The  one  man  in  God's  universe.     I  care  not 

What  I  may  be  to  you. 

And  thus— to  live— swayed  by  a  god-like  passion, 

That  may  not  be  expressed  ; 
To  bravely  strive, — yet  never  quite  subduing 

Love's  longing  and  unrest. 

"She  read  the  last  words  almost  in  a  whisper,  and  I  could  feel 
her  form  shiver,  as  she  leaned  against  me. 


i8 

" ' Rose  !  Rose  ! '  I  said,  with  a  feeling  of  agony  that  must  have 
expressed  itself  in  my  voice,  c  never  sing  that  song  again,  or 
think  of  it  !  You  must  not !  Oh,  my  poor  child  !  you  are  tottering  on 
a  fearful  brink  ! ' 

"  She  bowed  her  head  in  my  lap,  trembling  visibly,  as  she  replied  : 

"  *  Sister  Agnes,  I  am  no  longer  on  the  brink.  I  am  in  the  great, 
deep  abyss,  God  help  me  !  I  love  him  as  only  one  of  my  nature  and 
my  race  can  love.  I  do  not  think  he  gives  me  a  moment's  thought  ; 
he  does  not  care  for  me,  why  should  he  ?  I  do  not  want  to  desire 
his  love.  He  is  all  that  is  honorable  and  good  ;  and  yet,  I  am  con- 
scious of  only  this,  in  every  fiber  of  my  soul  and  body,  1  love  him,  I 
love  him  ! 

"  Hush  !  Rose,'  I  cried,  '  hush  !  remember  what  he  is — the  hus- 
band of  another  woman.' 

"  '  As  if  I  could  ever  forget  it ! '  she  replied  passionately.  *  Sister 
Agnes,  the  nature  of  a  Spanish  woman  can  no  more  be  held  in  the 
grooves  of  propriety  and  conventionalism  than  a  mountain  torrent. 
God  made  me  as  I  am,  and  He  knows  I  am  not  to  blame  for  loving 
the  husband  of  another  woman.'' 

"  £  No,  dear  child,'  I  said,  taking  both  her  little,  hot  hands  in 
mine  ;  '  you  are  not  to  blame  for  that,  but  you  are  very  much  to 
blame,  if  by  one  act  or  word,  you  do  aught  that  could  give  one  pang 
to  that  other  woman,  were  she  the  most  loving  and  sensitive  of 
wives.' 

"<  Agnes,  can  you  doubt  me?  I  do  not  propose  to  do  anything 
— but  feel  and  suffer.  You  do  not  understand  my  nature.  How  can 
one  of  your  cold  Northern  blood  understand  our  Southern  intensity  ? 
Charles  Howard  is  the  soul  of  honor.  He  would  die  before  he  could 


do  a  dishonorable  act.  And  I  ?  Why  Agnes  ! '  her  low,  impassioned 
tones  were  like  music  as  she  spoke,  '  it  is  no  idle  expression  when  I 
say  that  I  would  give  my  life  for  his  happiness,  or  his  good,  as  readily 
as  I  give  you  a  rose  ;  and  yet  so  proud  am  I  that  I  would  not  by  one 
wave  of  my  hand  call  him  to  my  side,  unless  he  came  first  of  his 
own  free  will.  There  is  no  sacrifice  I  would  not  make  for  him  ;  yet 
I  would  not  cross  this  room  to  win  him,  were  he  entirely  free,  unless 
I  knew  that  I  am  to  him  what  he  is  to  me.  With  this  knowledge  in 
my  heart,  and  no  bonds  of  honor  to  bind  me,  there  is  no  place  in 
God's  universe  where  I  would  not  go  to  him.  There  is  no  chasm 
my  love  could  not  bridge,  no  heights  or  depths  it  would  not  pierce, 
to  bring  me  to  his  side — his  equal,  his  queen.' 

"  She  had  risen  in  speaking,  and  was  standing  before  me  like  a 
goddess  ;  the  glory  of  the  heavens  was  shining  in  her  eyes,  and  the 
strength  of  her  emotion  seemed  to  exalt  her  before  me.  I  raised  my 
eyes  to  reply  to  her,  when  there  before  me,  in  one  of  the  long, 
open  French  windows,  stood  Charles  Howard.  His  face  was  pale 
as  marble,  and  the  light  in  his  eyes  made  me  think  of  an  eruption  of 
Vesuvius  I  once  witnessed.  Rose  stood  with  her  back  to  him,  and 
was  unconscious  of  his  presence.  I  knew  he  had  heard  her  last 
words,  and  perhaps  more.  I  felt  myself  getting  faint  and  dizzy 
at  the  situation ;  but  was  prevented  making  any  movement  in  the 
matter  by  Howard,  who  did  not  notice  me  at  all,  but  came  towards 
Rose  with  both  arms  held  out,  exclaiming,  with  a  passionate  ring  in 
his  voice  : 

"'Then  come  to  me,  my  darling!  God  knows  the  best  love  of 
your  glorious  nature  can  be  but  a  response  to  what  I  have  felt  for 
you  since  I  first  knew  you.' 


20 


"  Rose  turned,  and  instantly  the  proud  look  and  carriage  were 
gone.  She  was  simply  the  loving  woman,  who,  with  a  low  cry, 
sprang  into  his  arms,  where  he  held  her  as  though  he  intended  that 
nothing  should  ever  separate  them  again. 

"For  a 'moment  I  was  so  overcome  by  this  terrible  complication 
of  affairs,  that  I  felt  weak  enough  to  run  away  and  never  come  back 
again.  Then  the  whole  magnitude  of  their  danger  seemed  to  rise 
up  before  me  and  invest  me  with  personal  responsibility  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  to  give  me  strength  beyond  myself.  I  went  to  them,  took 
Rose  from  him  and  held  her  closely  in  my  arms  while  I  said,  with  a 
force  that  arrested  his  attention  : 

" '  Mr.  Howard,  are  you  insane  ?  Do  you  stop  one  moment  to 
consider  the  full  meaning  of  your  words  and  act  ?  Would  you  blast 
the  life  of  this  precious  girl  ?  ' 

u  '  Mrs.  Lee,'  he  replied,  with  a  dignity  that  won  my  respect.  '  you 
misunderstand  my  motives.  I  would  not  allow  a  breath  to  mar  the 
purity  of  her  fame,  which  is  more  sacred  to  me  than  anything  inearth 
or  heaven.  God  knows  you  would  seem  to  have  a  right  to  judge  me 
harshly,  but  I  never  intended  to  let  Rose  know  my,  feelings  for  her. 
I  know  that  every  instinct  of  honor  and  principle  would  seem  to  for- 
bid it.  This  betrayal  of  my  true  self  was  unintentional.  But  know- 
ing what  I  do  now,  I  shall  have  but  one  aim  in  life  henceforth,  to 
make  the  way  plain  and  straight  to  put  myself  in  a  position  where  I  can 
claim  her  before  the  world.  Until  then  I  shall  not  allow  myself  the 
bliss  of  even  clasping  her  hand  or  meeting  her  dear  eyes.  If  you 
knew  the  whole  story  of  my  life,  Mrs.  Lee,  you  would  not  blame  me 
as  I  feel  you  do.  Sometime  you  may  know  more  of  me.  I  know  you 
love  Rose,  as  she  does  you.  Will  you  not  try  to  have  faith  in  me,  and 


21 

believe  that  I  am  an  honorable  man,  a  proud  man  who  holds  himself 
above  the  contamination  of  the  mire  of  sensuality  ?  I  will  prove  it 
to  you  and  I  will  claim  my  darling  one  day  in  a  manner  that  even 
you  will  approve.' 

"  His  tone  and  manner  were  so  manly  that  somehow,  despite  my- 
self, I  found  that  I  did  have  faith  in  his  expressions. 

"  'Mr.  Howard,'  I  said  as  frankly  as  I  felt,  'I  have  faith  in  you 
now.  I  believe  you  mean  just  what  you  say.  But  humanity  is  weak. 
You  must  go  beyond  the  reach  of  temptation  at  once.  I,  of  course 
know  nothing  of  your  life  story,  but  I  feel  an  interest  in  you,  and  shall 
pray  that  these  tangled  threads  may  all  be  made  straight.  I  love 
Rose  as  my  own  younger  sister.  Her  welfare  is  as  precious  to  me  as 
that  of  my  own  little  daughter.' 

"  *  I  am  glad  it  is  so,'  she  replied  ;  c  I  had  already  made  arrange- 
ments to  go  away  to  Santa  Barbara  for  an  indefinite  period.  I  shall 
now  hasten  those  plans.  Let  me  assure  you  once  more  that  you  shall 
never  have  reason  to  doubt  my  honor.  Before  I  go  away,  may  I  not 
see  you  for  a  few  moments  ?  There  is  much  I  would  say  to  you,  if 
you  will  hear  it.' 

"  I  gave  him  the  desired  promise.  I  was  getting  very  nervous  lest 
some  other  members  of  the  family,  should  return  and  guess  by  our 
appearance  that  something  unusual  had  occurred.  1'hen  I  hastened 
his  departure  and  took  Rose  off  to  my  room  just  in  time  to  avoid 
observation.  Once  inside  my  door  and  the  key  safely  turned  she 
sank  down,  faint  and  weak,  and  lay  sobbing  in  my  arms  like  a  child. 
I  kept  her  with  me  all  night,  giving  a  nervous  headache,  that  stereo- 
typed excuse,  as  my  reason  for  doing  so.  And  now,  do  you  wonder 
at  my  anxiety  ?  Rose  clings  to  me  as  her  only  refuge,  and  I  feel 


22 


that  I  must  be  brave  and  strong  to  support  her.     Write   soon,  dear 
Kate,  and  give  me  the  comfort  of  some  of  your  strong,  good  words. 

u  Your  loving  AGNES." 


PART  III. 


From  the  arms  held  out  to  embrace  us, 

We  shrink  with  a  moan,  to  pray 
For  the  pressure  of  arms  that  are  folded, 

Forever  and  ever  away. 

"SANTA  BARBARA,  Aug  2Qth. 
HAVE  neglected  you,  Kate,  during  these  sunny 
August  days ;  but  I  have  had  so  much  to  fill  my 
mind  and  heart  that  I  could  not  write.  There 
has  been  a  severe  epidemic  of  measles  raging 
among  the  children  of  Santa  Barbara  for  some 
weeks.  Two  of  Don  Ramon's  little  ones  were 
quite  ill  for  several  days,  having  been  stricken 
with  the  disease  a  day  or  two  after  my  last  letter 
to  you.  My  own  precious  lambs  are  exempt 
from  the  contagion — as  you  know — you  probably 
not  having  forgotten  their  two  weeks'  illness  a  year  ago,  through 
which  you  helped  me  to  nurse  them.  Therefore,  having  no  fears  for 
their  welfare  to  deter  me,  I  have  gone  much  among  the  little  sufferers 
of  our  acquaintance.  You  know  I  have  a  sort  of  '  gift'  in  the  line  of 
hospital  work,  and  I  remember  how  you  used  to  say  I  was  never 
happier  than  when  fondling  some  sick  baby  or  soothing  the  ails  of 
some  old  woman. 

"  Two  weeks  ago  last  night,  Mrs.  Howard  sent  for  me  to  go  to 
her,  as  both  her  little  girls  were  sick.  Charles  Howard  had  been 
called  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  to  San  Francisco  upon  business 


24 

and  she  was  alone.  You  may  imagine  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at 
the  summons,  but  went  at  once.  She  met  me  at  the  door  saying, 
*  Excuse  me  for  sending  for  you,  Mrs.  Lee,  but  I  am  told  you  know 
just  what  to  do  for  sick  children,  and  I  am  a  poor  nurse.  I  know 
my  children  are  very  sick,,  and  I  am  afraid  old  Dr.  Simmons  is  not 
helping  them.' 

"  I  went  with  her  to  the  bedroom  where  the  little  girls  were  tossing 
and  moaning  in  the  delirium  of  fever.  I  saw  immediately  that  their 
condition  was  serious.  Jennie,  the  elder,  who  is  about  nine  years  of 
age,  seemed  in  a  half  stupor  which  I  did  not  like ;  but  Maude,  the 
younger  child,  who  is  near  seven,  was  very  restless.  A  great  many 
bottles  with  formidable  labels  and  directions  stood  on  a  little  table. 
After  a  few  minutes'  careful  inspection  I  said  : 

"  '  Mrs.  Howard,  the  little  girls  are  very  sick.  This  room  is  too 
hot  and  close.  Your  sitting-room  is  cooler  and  has  better  ventila- 
tion. Can  we  not  arrange  two  cots  there,  where  the  children  will  be 
more  comfortable  ?' 

"  'Anything  you  think  best,  Mrs.  Lee,'  she  exclaimed.  '  I  know 
so  little  about  nursing  that  I  feel  helpless  in  this  case  Will  you  not 
stay  with  me  and  advise  we  what  to  do  ?'  I  readily  gave  the  desired 
promise  and  we  soon  had  two  cool,  comfortable  cots  in  the  pleasant 
sitting-room  to  which  we  carried  the  little  sufferers  out  of  the  stifling 
bedroom.  I  was  not  pleased  with  the  amount  of  drugs  prescribed 
by  Dr.  Simmons,  and  earnestly  desired  to  toss  the  whole  array  of 
bottles  into  the  kitchen  fire.  But  you  know  how  one  feels  about 
suggesting  anything  contrary  to  a  physician's  directions,  even  if  he  is 
antediluvian  in  his  ideas.  Therefore,  I  remained  silent  while  dose 
after  dose  of  strong  nauseous  drugs  was  poured  down  each  poor  little 


25 

parched  throat.  Sad  hours  of  anxious  watching  followed,  broken  by 
an  occasional  call  from  some  friendly  neighbor,  and  the  regular  visits 
of  the  fussy  old  doctor,  who  seemed  bewildered  and  uncertain  in  the 
management  of  the  cases.  I  remained  through  the  night,  going  home 
in  the  early  morning  for  rest  and  sleep.  As  I  came  in  at  the  gate  of 
Don  Ramon's  home  I  met  Father  Antonio  walking  among  the  roses. 
I  do  not  know  what  there  is  in  that  strong,  quiet  face  of  his  that 
inspires  me  with  such  a  feeling  of  rest — of  refuge  in  distress.  There 
is  a  certain  dignity  of  character,  a  certain  holding  himself  above  the 
multitude,  that  would  seem  to  repel  any  personal  familiarity,  and  yet 
sometimes  there  flashes  over  me  the  feeling  that  in  any  terrible  emer- 
gency, spiritual  or  physical,  I  should  turn  instinctively  to  him  as  to 
a  rock  of  refuge.  In  my  anxiety  for  my  poor  little  patients  this  feel- 
ing prompted  me  to  respond  to  his  courteous  greeting  by  giving  him 
a  full  account  of  the  symptons  and  mode  of  treatment  of  the  sick 
children.  His  face  became  very  serious  as  he  listened,  and  when  I 
had  finished  the  recital  he  paused  a  moment  in  thought  before 
answering  : 

"  '  You  are  quite  right,  Mrs.  Lee,  in  your  opinion  that  the  little 
ones  are  in  danger,  more  from  an  incompetent  physician  than  from 
the  disease.  But  my  dear  madame,  you  are  very  weary.  It  is  not 
right  for  you  to  give  too  much  from  your  fund  of  vitality,  although  it 
is  given  in  a  noble  cause.  What  a  fine  nurse  you  are,'  he  said,  smil- 
ing. I  never  noticed  before  what  an  amount  of  sunshine  there  was 
in  his  smile  ;  and  as  I  passed  into  the  house,  a  something  from  his 
personality,  as  an  emanation,  seemed  to  go  with  me  to  soothe  and 
quiet  me. 

"  I  slept  some  hours,  and  when   I   awoke,    Rose,   dear  girl,  had 


26 

brought  me  a  silver  tray  containing  a  cup  of  delicious  chocolate  and 
some  other  refreshments.  «  Uncle  Antonio  says  you  must  take  this 
and  when  you  go  back  to  your  patients,  he  will  accompany  you,'  she 
said  with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice  ;  « Oh,  Agnes,  do  you  think  there 
is  any  danger?'  and  the  tear  drops  glistened  on  her  long  lashes. 

'  There  is  danger,  dear,'  I  replied,  'danger  in  the  amount  of  drugs 
they  are  compelled  to  take.  If  your  Uncle  could  have  had  the  man- 
agement of  their  cases  from  the  beginning  the  children  would  have 
fared  no  worse  than  your  little  brother  and  sister.'  She  remained 
silent  while  I  took  my  chocolate,  then  said  with  a  tone  of  dignity  and 
sweetness  : 

"  '  Sister  Agnes,  I  want  to  aid  you  in  the  care  of  the  little  sick  ones. 
You  must  let  me  relieve  you  with  them.  There  can  be  not  the  least 
impropriety  while  their  father  is  away.  Oh  !  Agnes  they  are  his 
children,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  hurts  me  to  think  of  their 
suffering.  I  must  help  you  with  them  until  he  comes.' 

"  I  was  thoughtful  a  moment  before  replying.  The  children  needed 
just  such  help  as  Rose  could  give  them  ;  there  was  no  reason  in  the 
eyes  of  the  community  why  she  should  not  act  a  neighborly  part  to 
Mrs.  Howard.  That  eventful  scene  in  the  parlor,  described  in  my 
last  letter,  no  one  besides  ourselves  suspected.  I  believe  she  would 
be  happier  ministering  to  the  needs  of  the  little  ones,  than  to  be  idle, 
therefore  I  replied  : 

"  'You  may  help  me  Rose;  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not.' 
Then  we  went  down  to  her  uncle,  who  awaited  us  on  the  great  wide 
veranda,  and  together  went  to  Mrs.  Howard's. 

"  I  watched  Father  Antonio  closely,  as  he  examined  the  .little  ones, 
and  I  did  not  gather  hope  from  his  face. 


27 

"  It  was  necessary  for  the  children  to  have  careful  attention  day  and 
night.  The  neighbors  who  had  children  of  their  own  were  fearful  of 
exposing  them  by  coming  in  to  assist  Mrs.  Howard,  and  it  was  impos- 
sible to  hire  the  proper  kind  of  nursing,  Therefore  it  devolved  upon 
us  to  do  all  we  could.  The  mother  looked  worn  and  exhausted  from 
lack  of  sleep.  Father  Antonio  came  to  our  aid  at  once  in  his  firm, 
quiet  manner,  arranging  that  he  and  Rose  should  watch  through  the 
night,  and  insisting  that  Mrs.  Howard  and  T  should  retire,  and  leave 
everything  to  his  care.  He  seemed  to  take  my  burden  from  me  in  a 
way  that  relieved  my  anxious  heart,  immensely.  It  was  but  a  short 
distance  to  Don  Ramon's  and  as  I  thought  best  to  go  back  to  my 
own  darling's  instead  of  remaining  at  Mrs.  Howard's,  he  accompan- 
ied me  to  the  gate,  and  then  returned  to  Rose,  and  their  vigil. 

" '  Through  the  next  day  two  of  the  neighbors  aided  the  mother 
in  the  care  of  the  children  who  were  no  better.  In  the  evening  as  I 
was  passing  out  of  Don  Ramon's  gate  on  my  way  to  Mrs.  Howard's 
I  was  joined  by  Father  Antonio  who  remarked  '  It  is  best  that  I 
should  remain  through  the  night  with  our  invalids.  I  do  not  think  it 
wise  for  you  to  be  alone  with  them  and  the  mother.' 

"  Towards  midnight  the  children  seemed  more  quiet,  and  Father 
Antonio  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  *  Mrs.  Lee,  insist  upon  Mrs.  Howard  taking  some  refreshment,  and 
then  getting  some  sleep.  She  will  need  all  her  vitality  to  meet  what 
is  coming  soon.'  I  looked  at  him  in  a  startled  way,  because  I  had 
thought  the  children  improving. 

"  '  And  what  of  their  father?  '  I  questioned,  anxiously. 

"  '  His  partner  has  telegraphed  him  to  return  at  once ;  and  he  re- 


28 

sponded  that  he  would  leave  immediately,  returning  overland.  He  is 
undoubtedly  on  the  road  now.' 

"  I  went  into  the  little  kitchen  where  there  was  a  fire,  made  some 
tea  and  toast  which  I  prevailed  upon  the  mother  sharing  with  me.  She 
was  weary  and  unstrung  which  must  account,  in  part,  for  the  singular 
confidences  upon  her  part  which  followed.  She  is  a  peculiar  woman; 
I  am  not  attracted  to  her,  and  yet  I  pity  her.  She  is  dark  and 
sallow  in  appearance,  and  looks  much  older  than  her  husband. 
Her  abundant  black  hair  is  coiled  at  the  back  of  her  head,  usually  in 
a  manner  that  gives  her  a  sort  of  witch-like  appearance,  and  there  is  a 
peculiar  glitter  in  her  small,  black  eyes  that  does  not  tend  to  lessen 
this  impression.  She  has  one  of  those  long,  pointed  chins,  and  the 
mouth  which  usually  accompanies  it,  giving  a  shrewish  appearance 
to  the  face.  Yet  she  has  been  a  pretty  girl,  and  is  a  model  house- 
keeper;— but  I  never  liked  model  house-keepers.  Their  realm  is  gen- 
erally the  kingdom  of  small  things,  and  they  are  more  troubled  about 
much  serving,  and  the  infinitesimals  of  existence  than  anything  of  a 
broader  nature. 

"  As  we  sat  by  -the  kitchen  table  drinking  our  tea,  she  suddenly 
broke  into  a  passion  of  sobs.  I  attempted  to  soothe  her,  and  in  a 
few  moments  she  became  more  calm,  saying  : 

"  '  Mrs.  Lee,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
to-night  about  something  I  have  never  mentioned  in  California.' 

"I  told  her  I  should  be  glad  to  do  her  any  good  in  my  power  by 
sympathy  or  otherwise.  Then  followed  this  singular  recital,  which 
was  all  the  more  surprising,  following  the  strange  events  of  the  past 
few  weeks. 

"  'I    believe  my  children  are  going  to  die,  Mrs.  Lee.     I  feel  that 


29 

it  will  be  God's  punishment  to  me  for  some  things  of  my  past  life, 
which  weigh  upon  me  so  heavily  to-night,  that  I  must  tell  you  of  them 
to  ease  my  heart. 

"  '  About  twelve  years  ago  I  was  living  in  my  father's  home  in  one 
of  the  interior  towns  of  New  York.  I  had  been  something  of  a  belle 
in  my  girlhood,  and  then,  at  twenty-eight  had  much  attention,  for  my 
gayety  of  manner  and  vivacity,  I  presume,  as  much  as  for  my  father's 
wealth.  But  I  had  never  thought  seriously  about  marriage,  or  met 
one  whom  I  cared  for  in  that  way,  until  the  time  I  speak  of.  There 
came  to  our  town,  partly  upon  business  and  partly  for  recreation,  a 
gentleman  from  New  Orleans  named  Victor  Ellerton.  He  was  a 
genuine  Southerner  of  the  noblest  sort,  so  I  thought,  handsome, 
chivalrous  and  manly.  He  was  two  or  three  years  my  senior,  and, 
from  the  hour  I  met  him,  I  loved  him  as  I  never  loved  before,  or 
since.  He  was  the  one  idol  of  my  wayward  heart,  and  my  stubborn 
will  was  completely  conquered.  He  was  attentive  to  me,  in  fact, 
conspicuously  so,  and  I  was  happy.  But  you  will  see  by  what  I  tell 
you,  that  my  happiness  excited  the  jealousy  and  malice  of  a  young 
girl  of  the  place,  Julia  Gregory,  who  had  boldly  tried  to  win  his  at- 
tention from  the  first.  One  day  he  came  to  me  much  agitated, 
saying  he  had  just  received  a  telegram  of  his  mother's  illness,  and  was 
compelled  to  return  at  once  to  New  Orleans.  There  were  several  per- 
sons present  at  his  call,  but  as  I  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  and 
stood  a  moment  with  him,  he  took  my  hand  in  his,  and  said  in  a  low 
tone,  "  Miss  Wilson — Jennie  may  I  call  you  ? — I  have  so  much  I  want 
to  tell  you.  May  I  write  to  you  ?  "  As  I  gave  the  permission,  I  know 
my  face  betrayed  my  love  for  him.  I  looked  forward  with  happy 
anticipations  to  the  coming  of  the  expected  letter.  Every  day  I  went 


3° 

to  the  postoffice,  but  it  never  came.  I  cannot  tell  the  feelings  I  en- 
dured as  the  long  summer  passed  and  no  word  came  from  him. 
Then  malicious  persons  began  to  whisper  that  I  had  been  jilted,  and 
my  irritation  was  at  its  height,  when  one  day  as  I  called  at  the  post- 
office,  Julia  Gregory,  whose  father  was  postmaster,  handed  me  a  New 
Orleans  paper  with  a  marked  paragraph,  remarking  : 

"  *  And  so,  Jennie,  our  Southerner  was  a  gay  deceiver  after  all, 
wasn't  he?  But  you  and  I  don't  care,  do  we?  We  know  there  is  just 
as  good  fish  in  the  sea.' 

" '  I  took  the  paper  and  read  the  marriage  of  Victor  Ellerton  to 
Alice  Irwin,  of  New  Orleans.  I  went  home  with  rage  in  my  soul.  I 
determined  to  let  everybody  see  I  was  not  a  victim.  Charles  How- 
ard was  a  wealthy  young  law  student,  who  had  come  from  New  York 
City  to  spend  the  summer,  and  had  seemed  somewhat  attentive  to 
me  in  a  bashful,  boyish  fashion.  He  was  about  twenty  years  of  age 
at  that  time,  and  I  knew,  as  women  do,  sometimes,  that  if  I  exerted 
all  my  power,  I  could  ensnare  his  boyish  heart,  marry  him  and  leave 
the  place — now  so  hateful  to  me.  Well,  I  carried  out  my  plans  com- 
pletely. Mrs.  Lee,  I  entrapped  him  into  that  marriage, — that  is  just 
what  I  did.  I  do  not  believe  he  ever  loved  me.  I  hope  he  has  not ; 
for  I  have  never  loved  him.  My  two  little  girls  were  born  within  two 
years  of  each  other.  When  Maude  was  two  months  old,  we  deter- 
mined to  come  to  California.  We  were  then  in  New  York  City.  I 
was  sitting  in  my  room  holding  the  baby  one  evening,  when  the  door- 
bell rang,  and  a  woman  asked  to  see  me.  It  was  Mrs.  Gregory, 
Julia's  mother,  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  She  told  me  something 
that  nearly  froze  the  blood  in  my  heart.  It  was  simply  this  :  Victor 


Ellerton  had  written  to  me,  as  he  promised,  again  and  again,  but 
Julia,  while  acting  as  her  father's  assistant,  had  stolen  the  letters,  and 
not  daring  to  destroy  them,  had  hidden  them.  At  last  she  wrote  an 
anonymous  letter  to  Ellerton,  telling  him  I  was  false  to  him,  and  was 
to  marry  another.  The  marriage  notice  she  gave  me  to  read  was 
that  of  his  cousin  of  the  same  name.  He  had  never  married.  Julia 
had  died  a  month  before  her  mother's  visit,  and  during  her  last  sick- 
ness had  confessed  everything  to  her  mother,  asking  her  to  find  me 
and  obtain  my  forgiveness.  At  the  end  of  the  story  she  gave  me  the 
package  of  sealed  letters— his  letters,  written  nearly  four  years  before. 

"  (  Oh !  Mrs.  Lee,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  suffered.  At  first  I 
could  not  forgive  Julia.  I  nearly  broke  her  poor  mother's  heart  with 
my  angry  words.  But  before  she  left  me  I  was  calmer,  and  promised 
to  try  to  forgive  her.  Then,  I  went  to  my  room  and  read  those  let- 
ters. The  first  told  me  of  his  love,  and  asked  me  to  be  his  wife. 
The  others  were  filled  with  eager  inquiries  of  my  silence,  and  the 
last  bade  me  farewell,  as  he  had  heard  of  my  intended  marriage. 
How  I  hated  my  folly,  and  my  weak  revengeful  nature,  that  had  not 
only  caused  me  to  sacrifice  Charles  Howard,  but  had  placed  a  bar 
between  me  and  the  only  man  I  loved.  I  shed  bitter  tears  over  those 
letters,  and  when  Charles  came  home  that  evening,  I  was  honest 
enough  to  confess  everything  to  him,  and  give  them  to  him  to  read. 
I  supposed  he  would  leave  me  at  once.  I  should  have  done  so,  had 
I  been  in  his  place.  But  he  read  them  all  through  ;  then,  putting  his 
hand  on  my  head,  like  a  brother  might  have  done,  said  : 

"  « Poor  Jennie  !  I  am  so  sorry  for  you.  I  read  your  heart's  his- 
tory long  ago.  If  I  could  make  you  happy  by  leaving  you,  I  should 
do  so.  But  you  need  my  care  and  protection  to  raise  our  little  girls, 


32 

and  for  the  present  it  is  better  for  us  to  remain  before  the  world  as 
we  are.  When  our  separation  is  necessary  for  your  happiness,  then 
we  will  consider  it.  I  do  not  blame  you,  or  feel  harshly  towards  you; 
never  think  so  one  moment.  But,  this  I  do  feel,  that  we  are  not  in  the 
true  sense  husband  and  wife.  Let  us  not  degrade  that  holiest  of  all 
relationships  by  falsehood  of  word  or  act.  We  will  offer  no  sacrifice 
to  false  god.  Henceforth,  you  may  confide  in  me  as  a  sister,  and  I 
will  be  a  brother  to  you. ' 

"  *  Since  that  day  we  have  been  husband  and  wife  only  in  name. 
He  is  always  thoughtful  and  kind  to  me,  and  one  of  the  best  of  fa- 
thers. The  children  he  loves  more  intensely,  I  believe  from  having 
missed  the  other  love  from  his  life.' 

"  You  can  imagine,  Kate,  with  what  feelings  I  heard  this  story.  I 
wondered  if  this  selfish  nature,  that  was  so  willing  to  accept  the 
strangely  unselfish  sacrifice  from  the  man  whose  name  she  bore,  could 
ever  rise  to  the  height  of  being  noble  and  generous  in  turn,  did  she 
know  the  true  condition  of  affairs.  I  doubt  it.  But,  perhaps,  I  do 
her  injustice. 

"  I  persuaded  her  to  retire  to  her  room,  and  I  rejoined  Father 
Antonio  in  his  watching. 

"  Silently  we  sat  together  through  the  mysterious  hours  of  dying  night 
and  coming  dawn.  It  was  evident  that  Jennie  could  not  survive  the 
day.  Maude  might  possibly  get  well,  but  we  dared  not  hope  too  much. 
With  the  first  flush  of  daylight  Rose  came  in  at  the  gateway,  seeming 
the  spirit  of  the  dawn,  in  her  gown  of  palest  pink.  Her  eyes  were 
heavy,  and  she  looked  pale  and  anxious.  As  she  came  to  the  side 
of  little  Jennie,  the  child  opened  her  eyes,  and  whispered  in  a  half- 
dream  like  way : 


33 

"  '  My  papa, — I  want  my  dear  papa  ! ' 

"  Father  Antonio  put  his  hand  on  her  head  and  assured  her  that 
her  papa  was  coming  to  her  soon.  At  this  moment  the  mother  came 
into  the  room.  In  an  instant  she  perceived  the  fatal  change  in  the 
little  girl,  and  sinking  into  a  chair  by  the  side  of  the  bed  broke  into 
a  passion  of  sobs.  Father  Antonio  urged  self-control  for  the  sake  of 
the  child.  Rose  stood  by  the  little  one  with  a  goblet  of  water, 
moistening  the  parched  mouth  occasionally  as  she  struggled  with 
the  parting  breath.  Raising  her  dim  eyes  to  Rose  she  whispered $ 
«  Take  me  up,  Miss  Rose.'  The  request  was  instantly  obeyed,  and 
the  dying  child  was  held  carefully  in  the  loving  arms,  while  the  little 
head  was  pillowed  on  the  tender,  womanly  breast  of  Rose.  I  stood 
beside  the  stricken  mother,  who  buried  her  face  in  my  garments  in 
an  agony  of  weeping. 

"  '  Papa/  came  faintly  from  the  lips  around  which  the  grey  shadows 
were  creeping. 

"  At  this  moment  down  the  silent  street  came  the  rapid  whirl  of 
wheels  and  a  dust-covered  buggy — drawn  by  two  foaming,  quivering 
horses — stopped  at  the  gate.  Howard's  partner,  Mr.  James,  had 
met  the  stage  twenty  miles  from  Santa  Barbara  with  the  swiftest 
horses  he  could  secure,  and  in  this  way  brought  the  father  to  his 
dying  child. 

"Howard,  pale  and  haggard,  sprang  from  the  vehicle  and  came  t 
the  door.     Father  Antonio  met  him  with  a  silent  hand-clasp.     Not  a 
word  was  spoken  as  the  father  sank  on  his  knees  by  the  bedside. 

"  *  Oh,  my  baby  ! '  he  sobbnd.  The  sobs  of  a  man  !  Surely 
the  most  agonizing  sound  that  can  be  voiced. 

^  !  'came  from  the  little  one,  a^d  there  was  a  glad  quiver  in 


34 

the  weak  voice,  and  a  faint  light  in  the  rapidly  glazing  eyes.  Rose's 
face  was  like  that  of  a  marble  statue,  as  she  held  the  little  form  ten- 
derly, while  her  beautiful  eyes  held  a  passion  of  agony  in  their  depths. 

"Slowly  and  yet  more  slowly  came  the  breath  of  the  little  girl, 
the  intervals  between  the  faint  sighs  becoming  longer.  Lower  and 
lower  drooped  the  lids  over  the  pretty  blue  eyes.  A  faint  flutter  of 
the  breath  as  a  newly  awakened  bird,  and  I  whispered  : 

"'She  is  gone  !' — But  no,  the  lids  raised,  the  eyes  turned  first  to 
'the  kneeling  father,  then  to  the  mother,  lastly  toward  heaven,  and 
opened  with  a  glad  joyous  light.  One  little  hand  fell  into  Rose's 
clasp,  the  other  fluttered  like  a  rose  petal  into  the  hand  of  her  father. 
The  clock  on  the  mantle  chimed  five.  With  that  bright  look  in  her 
eyes,  with  the  little  hands  as  they  fell,  she  was  gone,  and  just  the  wee 
shell  of  mortality  that  once  enfolded  her,  was  left  to  us. 

"  For  some  moments  the  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  sobs  of 
the  mother,  whose  face  was  buried  in  my  arms.  Then,  Father 
Antonio  reverently  and  tenderly  lifted  the  lifeless  form  from  Rose's 
arms,  and  placed  it  on  the  couch,  then,  taking  Rose's  hand,  led  her 
quietly  away,  while  I  drew  the  weeping  mother  into  an  adjoining 
room.  The  father,  after  passionately  kissing  the  little  still  face, 
passed  to  the  bedside  of  the  other  child,  who  was  lying  in  a  half-con- 
scious condition  at  the  farther  side  of  the  room,  carefully  attended 
by  a  neighbor  who  had  come  in  soon  after  his  arrival. 

"But  why  prolong  the  sorrowful  details.  Little  Maude  lived 
until  midnight,  when  she  joined  her  sister.  Side  by  side  the  little 
white-robed  sisters  lay  in  their  coffin,  as  though  they  had  lain  down 
in  their  bed  at  night.  I  was  with  the  father  and  mother  until  the 
last. 


35 

"  And  now  Mrs.  Howard  will  go  to  her  New  York  home  for  rest 
and  change.  Charles  Howard  will  remove  his  business  to  San 
Francisco,  and  the  double  grave  at  the  Santa  Barbara  cemetery  will 
remain  to  them  as  a  sacred  memory  forevermore.  Oh,  Life  !  some 
of  thy  details  are  stranger  than  fiction  ! 

"  I  am  very  tired,  dear,  from  the  events  of  the  past  weeks.  I  am 
resting  all  I  can.  Col.  Horton  has  returned  from  a  two  weeks'  busi- 
ness trip  to  San  Buena  Ventura  and  the  valley  of  the  Santa  Clara. 
He  is  very  kind  and  thoughtful  of  my  comfort,  and  is  constantly 
arranging  pleasant  things  for  me.  They  are  all  so  good  to  me  here. 

"I  see  very  little  of  Father  Antonio  now,  as  he  is  much  occupied. 
Yet,  somehow,  at  any  hour  I  can  close  my  eyes,  and  see  his  strong, 
refined  face,  and  the  vision  strengthens  me.  It  is  a  mysterious 
thing,  this  power  of  one  soul  over  another. 

"You  will  perceive  I  have  been  two  or  three  days  writing  this 
letter.  What  a  blessing  you  are  to  me,  Kate,  my  refuge  in  perplexity 
and  sorrow.  Lovingly, 

"Agnes." 

"  SEPTEMBER  3RD. 

"  Fate  ft  dealing  queerly  with  me  lately,  Kate.  I  have  been  sit- 
ting by  my  window  to-night  in  the  moonlight,  striving  to  get  away 
from  myself, — resolving  to  take  my  life  in  my  own  hands  and  shape 
it  to  suit  my  designs.  In  the  midst  of  such  thoughts  comes  these 
words  of  Owen  Meredith  : 

'  By  the  laws 

Of  a  fate  I  can  neither  control  nor  dispute 
I  am  what  I  am  ; ' 


36 

and  then  all  that  is  caged  and  bound  in  my  nature  rises  in  rebellion. 
I  must  find  work,  work  ;  that  is  salvation.  We  women  live  too  much 
in  our  hearts.  We  must  get  out  of  this  heart  life  and  live  in  the 
head,  if  we  would  not  suffer. 

"  *  What  is  it  now  ?  '  you  ask.  I  will  tell  you.  Yesterday  Rose 
and  I,  accompanied  by  Don  Ramon  and  Col.  Horton,  went  down 
the  coast  a  few  miles  on  horseback.  We  stopped  for  lunch  at  the 
house  of  an  acquaintance,  where  we  learned  of  the  illness  of  a  sister 
of  Dona  Inez,  who  lived  near  Montecito.  I  was  anxious  to  make  a 
sketch  of  a  certain  point  along  the  coast ;  so  Don  Ramon  proposed 
that  Col.  Horton  should  accompany  me  to  the  desired  place,  while 
he  and  Rose  visited  his  sister-in-law  ;  each  party  going  directly  home 
when  the  sketch  was  completed  and  the  visit  made. 

"  Don  Ramon's  passion  for  horses  is  remarkable,  even  for  a  Span- 
iard, and  we  were  riding  two  of  his  finest  specimens.  Mine  had 
been  devoted  to  my  use  from  my  first  arrival  in  the  family.  He  is  a 
perfect  model  of  horseflesh,  of  a  dark  cream  color — pelamino,  the 
Spanish  call  it — with  black  mane  and  tail,  and  a  black  line  along  the 
back  from  mane  to  tail.  He  has  learned  to  know  me,  and  I  am 
very  much  attached  to  him.  The  canter  to  the  beach  was  exhilarat- 
ing, and  we  were  in  the  best  of  spirits  when  we  arrived  at  the  de- 
sired spot.  Taking  my  sketching  materials  from  their  pocket  at  the 
side  of  my  saddle,  my  companion  fastened  our  horses  to  a  tree,  and 
we  went  down  to  the  beach.  He  arranged  my  seat  on  a  rock,  and  I 
was  soon  very  busy.  Taking  a  little  volume  of  Owen  Meredith's 
« Lucile  '  from  his  pocket  he  said  : 

"  '  May  I  read  to  you,  Mrs.  Lee,  while  you  work  ?  '  to  which  I 
replied  : 


37 

"  '  I  shall  be  really  glad  to  have  you,  Col.  Horton.  "  Lucile  "  is 
always  a  favorite  with  me.' 

"  So  as  I  worked  he  read,  at  first  continuously,  then  an  extract 
here  and  there  as  he'  turned  the  leaves.  It  was  familiar  to  both  of 
us,  therefore  each  fragment  was  understood.  Gradually  the  reading 
became  more  desultory  and  fragmentary,  interspersed  between  peri- 
ods of  silent  looking  out  across  the  great  waters.  Then  he  read  in  a 
low  voice  this  passage,  descriptive  of  Lucile  : 

"  '  Had  her  life  been  but  blended 

With  some  man's  whose  heart  had  her  own  comprehended, 
All  its  wealth  at  his  feet  would  have  lavishly  thrown. 
For  him  she  had  then  been  ambitious  alone  ; 
For  him  had  aspired  ;  in  him  had  transfused 
All  the  gladness  and  grace  of  her  nature  ;  and  used 
For  him  only  the  spells  of  its  delicate  power.' 

"  Something  in  the  tone  of  voice,  more  in  the  manner  of  the 
reader,  sent  a  sharp  thrill  through  my  heart,  and  made  me  wish  I  had 
not  come  to  this  lonely,  dream-like  place  in  this  .way. 

"  After  a  moment's  silence  he  said  : 

"  «  Men  and  women  often  accomplish  great  works,  stung  by  the 
agony  of  being  mis-mated ;  but  the  best  and  truest  work  of  man  or 
woman  must  be  from  the  grander  stimulus  of  being  rightly  mated; 
Agnes  Lee,  your  work  is  from  the  former  impulse.  Would  to  God  I 
could  lift  you  out  of  this  life  to  another  world  where  you  could  be 
impelled  only  by  the  latter  motive.  Through  all  these  years  in  which 
I  have  known  you,  and  of  you,  I  believe  I  have  read  your  nature 
perfectly,  all  its  needs,  and  all  the  purity  and  nobility  of  its  im- 
pulses ;  there  has  been  an  infinity  of  pleasure — a  great  danger  also — 


to  me  in  the  perusal.  I  have  read  the  cold,  unresponsive  nature 
that  would  sacrifice  all  the  grace  and  sweetness  of  your  womanhood 
to  utilitarian  and  mercenary  uses,  and  the  knowledge  has  stung  me 
to  agony.  To  me  you  are  a  queen  amongst  women.  I  could  snatch 
you  from  this  existence,  though  my  own  life  were  the  sacrifice.  I 
could  say  as  the  Duke  de  Luvois  did  to  Lucile : 

"  '  Tis  a  soul  that  appeals 

To  a  soul,  'tis  a  heart  that  cries  out  for  a  heart, 
'Tis  the  man  you  yourself  have  created  in  part, 
That  implores  you  to  sanction^  and  save  the  new  life 
Which  he  lays  at  your  feet  with  this  prayer.' 

"  He  had  put  his  hand  over  mine  as  it  lay  on  t  he  rock,  and  I  had 
not  the  power  to  change  the  position.  I  was  dizzy  and  faint.  A 
wild,  passionate  response  was  ringing  through  my  own  heart,  not  to 
this  man,  but  to  his  sentiments,  his  cry.  I  felt  the  sands  slipping, 
slipping  from  beneath  me.  I  became  afraid  of  myself.  All  the  pa- 
gan in  my  nature  rose  up  defiant  and  rebellious,  demanding  recog- 
nition, demanding  satisfaction  of  this  fate  that  had  made  me  as  I  am, 
and  denied  the  fulfillment  of  all  the  soul's  possibilities ;  that,  when  I 
begged  for  bread,  had  given  me  a  stone. 

"  Then  a  door  stood  wide  open  in  my  heart,  and  I  realized  this 
truth,  that  had  this  man  before  me  been  what  no  man  will  ever  be  to 
me  here,  a  realization  of  that  grand  ideal  that  awaits  me  in  some  life 
beyond  this, — I  should  have  been  swept  away  by  his  call>  as  the 
branch  of  sea-weed  was  carried  out  by  the  rising  tide.  Then  also 
came  the  further  knowledge,  that,  though  I  may  never  encounter  this 
ideal,  yet  1  shall  never  bow  to  a  lesser  god.  My  womanhood  can  never 
trail  her  white  garments  through  the  mire  of  sensuality  in  any  form, 


39 

or  kneel  at  a  less  worthy  shrine  than  that  of  divinest  love.  Welcome 
death — welcome  starvation — rather  than  feed  upon  the  husks. 

"  Then  I  was  strong  again,  my  armor  intact  ;  strong  to  save  my- 
self and  him.  I  arose  and  stood  before  him,  saying  : 

" '  My  friend,  I  appreciate  your  esteem,  your  respect,  more  than  I 
can  tell  you.  Nothing  can  ever  change  my  life's  pathway.  That  is 
best  which  comes  to  each  of  us,  how  hard  soever  it  may  seem. 
Let  us  each  live  for  the  duty  we  owe  to  life.  Weak  and  com- 
monplace people  may  stumble  and  fall,  and  arise  with  the  mire  of  the 
street  upon  their  garments  ;  but,  my  friend,  you  and  I  are  not  weak 
and  commonplace.  Let  us  go  home  now.' 

"  He  held  my  hand  a  moment,  reverently  and  tenderly ;  then,  with 
a  deep  pathos  in  his  voice,  said,  only : 

"  *  God  bless  you,  noblest  of  women  !  You  are  always  true  and 
right.  We  will  go  home.' 

"  As  I  entered,  alone,  the  gate  of  home,  again  I  met  Father  An- 
tonio, walking  among  the  roses.  A  passionate  desire  to  touch  the 
hem  of  his  garment,  imploring  his  strength,  came  over  me,  and  I  al- 
most sank  to  the  ground.  My  nerves  had  been  taxed  almost  beyond 
their  strength.  His  kindly  greeting  seemed  like  the  blast  of  a  trum- 
pet calling  to  battle.  I,  unconsciously,  reached  my  hand  to  him, 
and  said  : 

"  '  Father  Antonio,  when  a  heart  cries  to  you  from  out  of  its  depths, 
"  Pray  for  me  \  "  do  you  know  and  understand  ?  ' 

"  He  took  my  proffered  hand  just  a  moment,  his  dark  eyes  were 
grave  and  compassionate,  as  he  replied,  slowly, 

u  '  I  know  ;  I  understand.' 

"  That  was  all,  Kate,  but  Heaven's  gates  seemed   open,  and  the 


40 

soft  breezes  of  Paradise  calmed  my  troubled  soul.     All   day  those 
words  echo  softly  in  my  heart,  like  the  sound  of  music  : 
"  *  I  know ;  I  understand? 

"Your    AGNES." 


PART  IV. 


Could  I  but  know  that  in  some  far  sweet  morning 

We  should  stand  side  by  side, 
And  in  that  hour  find  all  Life's  questions  answered, 

I  would  be  satisfied. 

"  SANTA  BARBARA,  Sept.  3oth. 

Y  prayer  for  work  has  been  answered,  Kate> 
most  fully.  And  now  I  may  tell  you  of  the 
long  struggle  through  which  I  have  been 
passing, — the  knowledge  of  which  I  have 
kept  from  you  until  I  knew  whether  it  would 
end  in  victory  or  defeat  for  me. 

"When  I  came  to  Santa  Barbara  the 
conviction  was  strong  within  me,  that  hence- 
forth I  must  fight  alone  the  battle  of  life  for  myself  and  the  dear 
children.  Not  very  long  after  my  arrival  here,  a  letter  from  their 
father  confirmed  this  impression.  He  had  made  arrangements  to 
remain  permanently  in  China,  and — well,  Kate,  there  is  no  use  call- 
ing up  any  ghosts  by  going  into  sad  details.  The  bare  facts  are 
these  :  I  have  my  precious  babies — for  which  privilege  I  thank 
God  every  hour — my  worldly  possessions  are  not  burdensome,  but  I 
am  strong  and  brave  in  spirit  to  work  for  my  children  ;  and  I  have 
some  talents  that  can  be  utilized  in  the  line  of  teaching. 

"  All  the  facts  I  put  before  my  kind  friends,  Dona  Inez  and  her 
noble  hearted  husband.  Their  home  was  offered  me  for  mine  with 
an  earnestness  and  warmth  that  admitted  no  refusal.  They 
insisted  that  if  I  would  teach,  my  coming  here  was  a  dispensation  of 


42 

Providence  in  their  behalf.  'Were  there  not  all  the  muchachitos  and 
muchachitas  suffering  for  lack  of  instruction?  Did  they  not  need  lessons 
in  English, and  music  and  painting,and  was  there  a  more  competent  per- 
son in  all  the  Californiasthat  nuestrahermana  querida  Agnes?'  exclaim- 
ed the  dear,  kind  Dona,  folding  me  in  a  genuine  Spanish  embrace.  I 
could  not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  their  expressions.  In  conclusion 
they  positively  forbade  me  to  think  of  any  other  place  than  their 
casa  as  the  home  of  myself  and  children.  So  t^at  part  was  settled 
greatly  to  my  satisfaction.  A  commodious  school-room  was  fitted  up 
in  their  house,  and  devoted  to  my  use.  Gradually  numerous  nieces 
and  nephews  and  cousins,  and  other  juvenile  relatives  of  these  kind 
friends  were  added  to  my  classes,  the  privilege  of  my  instruction 
always  being  solicited  as  a  favor,  until  I  became  the  centre  of  the 
busiest  little  hive  of  workers  in  all  Santa  Barbara,  The  remuner- 
ation which  I  have  been  compelled  to  take  for  this  is  really  beyond 
my  most  sanguine  expectations.  They  all  insist  that  I  must  not 
think  of  leaving  Santa  Barbara,  must  establish  a  permanent  institu- 
tion here,  and  much  more  that  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to  hear.  So, 
with  the  aid  of  Don  Ramon,  arrangements  were  completed  by 
which  I  have  for  a  school-room  a  pretty  little  building  owned  by 
him,  situated  a  short  distance  from  the  residence ;  and  yesterday  my 
school  was  opened  for  pupils  with  due  formality.  I  have  promised 
to  continue  the  school  for  a  year  at  least,  and  probably  longer. 
And,  Kate,  I  began  to  feel  to-day  for  the  first  time  that  I  am  stand- 
ing upon  a  solid  foundation  of  my  own.  I  feel  an  infinite  capacity 
for  work  in  my  nature.  It  is  a  very  interesting  work  to  me,  as 
Spanish  children  are  always  well  trained,  obedient  and  loving. 

"  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  feel  like  telling  you  my  true  position 


43 

which  may  possibly  make  clear  to  you  some  things  in  my  former 
letters  that  may  have  been  somewhat  obscure. 

"  Mrs.  Howard  sailed  last  week  for  New  York,  while  Howard 
remained  in  San  Francisco.  I  think  it  is  tacitly  understood  between 
them  that  it  is  a  final  separation.  The  day  before  they  went  away,  I 
was  at  their  house  nearly  all  day,  aiding  her  in  the  last  preparations 
for  departure.  It  was  a  very  sad  day  to  both  of  them.  Every  spot 
was  sacred  with  mementoes  of  the  little  girls.  A  scrap  of  faded 
ribbon  that  had  once  tied  Jennie's  hair,  a  broken  doll  that  was 
Maud's  favorite,  a  little  worn  shoe  in  a  closet,  the  dainty  dresses  in 
which  the  mother  was  wont  to  array  them  with  so  much  pride,  and 
which  were  now  folded  away  with  bitter  tears ;  all  these  things  vvere 
like  daggers  to  the  hearts  of  both  parents. 

"  As  I  walked  home  in  the  evening,  Howard  went  with  me  to  my 
own  gate.  Just  before  separating,  he  said  to  me  : 

"  '  Mrs.  Lee,  Jennie  has  told  me  that  she  opened  her  heart  to  you 
freely.  It  will  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  say  anything  more  to  you  ; 
I  think  she  feels  there  is  no  longer  the  shadow  of  a  reason  for  our 
remaining  together.  I  believe  she  desires  to  go  away  for  a  final 
separation.  Believe  me,  I  shall  be  just  and  honorable  with  her.  I 
could  not  do  otherwise,  not  even  to  hasten  the  hour  that  will  bring 
me,  a  free  man,  to  the  sweet  woman,  who  through  sorrow,  and  suf- 
fering, and  death,  must  be  forever  the  queen  of  my  life.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem  to  you  to  hear  me  say  it,  my  feeling  for  her  is  the  one 
love  of  my  strong  manhood,  the  sweet  fountain  whose  pure  waters 
have  been  to  my  soul  as  the  baptism  of  God.  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand me,  that  I  am  a  better  man  in  every  way  for  this  feeling.  It 
has  changed  and  purified  my  nature,  and,  despite  all  the  conditions, 


44 

I  thank  Heaven  for  having  known  it.  I  ask  you  to  be  a  sister  to 
her,  Mrs.  Lee.  You  will  be  her  constant  companion.  I  know  you 
love  her,  and  will  cherish  her  happiness.  Some  day,  I  shall  come  to 
her,  and  when  I  do,  you  will  approve  of  my  coming.' 

"With  that  he  wrung  my  hand  in  farewell. 

"  What  a  strange  web  of  the  irregular  and  the  unconventional  has 
been  woven  around  this  place  in  the  incidents  of  the  past  few  weeks  ! 
The  events  of  sober,  real  life  are  often  more  incredible  than  the 
creations  of  fiction. 

"  Rose  is  paler  and  more  quiet  in  her  manner  than  before  this 
spiritual  cyclone,  but  otherwise  she  is  her  old  sweet  self.  We  never 
speak  upon  the  one  subject,  but  a  mutual  pressure  of  our  clasped 
hands,  or  the  interchange  of  eloquent  glances  at  times,  reveal  to  each 
the  sympathy  and  understanding  of  the  other.  I  am  sure  no  one  be- 
side ourselves  suspects  the  condition  of  affairs. 

"  Col.  Horton  went  to  Los  Angeles  two  or  three  days  after  my  last 
letter  to  you.  He  has  interests  there  that  may  keep  him  permanently. 
He  was  very  kind,  very  chivalrous  and  very  respectful  in  his  manner 
to  me  all  the  time. 

"  Father  Antonio  I  meet  frequently,  as  he  is  an  inmate  of  our 
household.  He  refers  occasionally  to  his  return  to  Spain,  which 
elicits  most  earnest  protestation  from  every  member  of  our  family. 
He  is  a  constant  study  to  me,  Kate  ;  he  seems  so  different  from  any 
other  man  I  ever  knew.  I  wonder  if  he  suspects  the  peculiar  influ- 
ence he  has  upon  me,  which  is  a  most  singular  psychological  phe- 
nomenon, and  one  entirely  new  to  me.  A  subtle  something — shall 
I  call  it  soul-emanation  ? — seems  to  surround  me  from  his  spirit, 
until  there  are  hours  and  days  in  which  I  live  and  move  and  have 


45 

my  being  only  in  this  atmosphere.  It  is  as  though  I  were  walking 
in  the  clearer  ether  of  great  mountain  heights.  I  arn  uplifted  and 
exalted  until  I  feel  that  fire  and  torture  and  martyrdom  could  not 
disturb  my  serenity.  I  seem  to  have  known  him  since  the  first  dawn 
of  creation,  more  intimately  than  I  have  ever  known  any  other  em- 
bodied spirit.  It  never  appears  necessary  that  I  should  speak  my 
thoughts  to  him  :  I  fancy  he  reads  my  soul  as  an  open  scroll.  There 
is  not  an  hour  of  the  day  in  which  I  do  not  feel  his  presence,  the 
benediction  of  his  hand,  the  inspiration  of  his  glance.  And  yet,  dear, 
only  the  words  of  formal  courtesy  are  ever  exchanged  between  us. 
He  has  been  a  help,  a  power  to  me  in  these  desolate  hours  I  have 
known  lately,  greater,  perhaps,  than  he  can  ever  know.  I  imagine 
mine  are  the  feelings  which  weak  mortals  feel  toward  the  saints  in 
heaven.  But  it  is  all  new  to  your  AGNES." 

After  this  the  letters  for  many  weeks  were  filled  with  descriptions, 
of  her  daily  routine,  incidents  in  the  lives  of  her  idolized  children, 
and  little  pen  sketches  of  her  surroundings.  At  last  I  come  to  this 
one  : 

JANUARY  I2TH. 

"  Kate,  can  you  imagine  yourself  closing  your  eyes  upon  a  certain 
scene,  and  opening  them  to  find  every  particular  of  that  scene  com- 
pletely changed  ?  Can  you  picture  one  walking  along  a  monotonous 
little  pathway  which  promises  to  continue  indefinitely,  and  suddenly 
finding  the  road  stopped  abruptly  by  a  great  fathomless  abyss 
which  reveals  only  mysterious  obscurity  ?  So  has  Life  revealed  itself 
to  me, — suddenly,  as  a  lightning-stroke.  I  wonder  if  I  can  give  you 
any  clear  idea  of  my  meaning,  by  sober  details?  Let  me  try: 


46 

"  During  my  vacation,  which  commenced  about  the  middle  of 
December,  Don  Ramon  invited  me  with  Rose,  Father  Antonio  and 
some  other  members  of  his  family  to  accompany  him  to  his  extensive 
ranch,  which  lies  about  forty  miles  from  Santa  Barbara,  almost  en- 
tirely in  the  mountains.  He  goes  there  frequently  upon  matters  of 
business,  and  he  was  anxious  to  make  this  trip  a  pleasant  affair  in 
honor  of  his  brother  who  will  soon  return  to  Spain. 

"  They  arranged  the  trip,  for  my  sake,  in  the  vacation,  as  Dona 
Inez  insisted  that  I  needed  the  recreation.  Heavy  rains  had  fallen 
in  the  mountains,  and  it  was  not  without  some  misgivings  that  we 
undertook  the  journey.  But  we  arrived  without  any  unpleasant  in- 
cident, and  were  soon  comfortably  domiciled  for  a  week's  stay  in 
the  quaint  old  adobe  farm-house,  which  was  in  charge  of  a  Mexican 
family.  The  gentlemen  spent  many  hours  each  day  in  the  saddle, 
and  sometimes  Rose  and  I  were  their  companions.  But  my  delight 
was  the  wonderful  mountain  scenery  on  every  hand.  One  especial 
rocky  gorge  I  was  fond  of  visiting  frequently  for  sketching  purposes. 
It  was  peculiarly  located,  being  but  a  narrow  box-like  ravine  in  one 
portion,  through  which  a  little  stream  trickled,  and  upon  each  side 
of  which  the  mountains  rose  up  almost  perpendicularly.  In  order  to 
reach  the  point  from  which  I  desired  to  sketch,  a  mile  or  so  from 
the  house,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  through  this  narrow  gorge  by  the 
merest  thread  of  a  pathway  which  lay  along  the  edge  of  the  stream. 
Rose  and  I  had  been  to  the  spot  many  times,  and  I  was  quite  famil- 
iar with  the  way. 

"  One  afternoon,  just  before  we  were  to  take  our  departure  from  the 
ranch,  I  was  quite  desirous  of  visiting  the  place  to  complete  my  last 


47 

sketch  of  an  interesting  waterfall.  Rose  was  feeling  quite  unwell,  so 
I  took  my  sketch-book  and  went  alone  without  the  least  hesitation. 
The  work  required  more  time  than  I  at  first  anticipated,  and  just  as 
I  was  closing  my  book  I  was  surprised  by  falling  rain-drops.  Glanc- 
ing up  I  became  seriously  alarmed  at  the  appearance  of  the  sky. 
The  whole  northern  heavens  seemed  a  black  vault  that  threatened  to 
engulf  the  earth.  It  was  singularly  grand  and  majestic,  but  I  was 
too  much  frightened  to  admire  it.  Hastening  my  steps  through  the 
falling  rain,  I  had  but  reached  the  narrow  gorge  when  darkness 
seemed  to  close  me  in  as  the  walls  of  a  prison.  Reverberations  of 
thunder  and  flashes  of  lightning  added  to  the  terror  of  the  scene. 
Despite  my  fear  I  remembered  the  description  in  'Lucile,'  begin- 
ning : 

'  And  the  storm  was  abroad  in  the  mountains.' 

"  I  entered  the  gorge — picking  my  way  as  carefully  as  I  could, 
when  a  low  moan  far  up  the  mountain  attracted  my  attention.  So 
faintly  it  came  at  first,  that  I  scarcely  noticed  it,  but  gradually  it  grew 
deeper  and  more  distinct  until  I  paused  to  listen.  I  was  standing 
midway  in  the  gorge,  at  the  time.  The  little  stream  was  swollen  con- 
siderably and  ran  over  my  feet.  The  mysterious  roar  became  almost 
deafening.  I  knew  not  what  to  do.  At  this  instant  a  bright  flash  of 
lightning  revealed  just  before  me  the  form  of  Father  Antonio  hasten, 
ing  towards  me.  Without  an  instant  of  waiting1  or  word  of  warning 
he  caught  me  in  his  arms  and  sprang  like  an  athlete  through  a  provi- 
dential opening  in  the  wall  of  the  ravine,  which  led  to  a  sheltered 
place  about  thirty  feet  above  the  stream.  It  was  not  an  instant  too 
soon.  We  had  barely  reached  the  place  of  safety,  when  I  caught  the 


48 

gleam  of  a  white,  electric  wall  of  water  and  in  a  moment  our  placid, 
little  stream  was  a  boiling  cauldron,  twenty  feet  in  depth.  There 
had  been  a  cloud-burst  in  the  mountains,  and  this  was  the  result. 
This  man  had  simply  saved  me  from  a  most  horrible  death.  I  grew 
dizzy  with  a  realization  of  the  situation,  and  for  a  moment  all  con- 
sciousness forsook  me.  In  that  moment,  dear,  the  old  /  died  forever. 
When  complete  consciousness  came  back  to  me  the  whole  universe 
was  changed,  with  the  rapidity  and  fierceness  of  the  lightning  darts 
that  played  around  the  rock  upon  which  we  stood.  I  was  aroused 
by  hearing  my  name,  *  Agnes?  That  was  all ;  but  the  word  seemed 
a  signal  that  rolled  away  a  great  curtain  from  my  soul,  and  I  saw 
that  revealed  which  I  thought  could  never  be  shown  to  me  until 
Time  should  be  no  more.  I  knew,  with  a  knowledge  as  fixed  as 
Eternity,  that  the  deepest  love  of  which  my  nature  was  capable,  was 
given  to  this  man, — that  is  Antonio  Carillo  was  realized  the  grandest 
ideal  possible  to  my  soul's  conception ;  knew  also  that,  even  were  it 
possible  that  he  could  ever  give  me  a  thought  beyond  what  was  given 
to  any  friend,  there  lay  between  us  a  gulf  as  broad  as  God's  universe, 
as  impassable  as  the  walls  of  fate.  With  one  second  of  time  this 
knowledge  came  to  me.  And  yet  the  moment  in  which  I  lay  in 
helpless  consciousness  in  his  arms  was  to  me  an  infinity  of  joy — the 
life  of  centuries  condensed  into  a  single  instant — the  epitome  of 
eternity.' 

"  By  the  glare  of  the  lightning  I  could  see  distinctly  every  outline 
of  his  face,  the  contour  of  his  head,  as  the  storm  played  around  us. 
He  held  me  firmly  and  closely,  for  the  place  of  our  shelter  was  small 
and  by  no  means  sure.  He  spoke  no  word  to  me,  but  gazed  into 


49 

the  face  of  the  tempest  with  an  air  of  reverent  admiration,  as  though 
in  it  he  recognized  and  adored  the  Omnipotent. 

"  For  one  wild  moment  I  closed  my  eyes  and  prayed  for  instant 
death.  I  begged  the  storm  to  absorb  my  being,  the  lightning  to 
extinguish  with  one  kind  stroke  the  pitiful  torch  of  life.  Only  for  a 
moment.  Then,  like  a  great,  calm  river,  there  came  to  me  from  this 
man  a  peace,  deep  and  abiding.  I  was  lifted  above  the  spiritual 
storm  and  placed  upon  heights  which  seething  waves  of  earthly  unrest 
can  never  reach.  I  believe  for  a  time  my  spirit  was  free  from  the 
body,  and  stood  revealed  to  his  as  it  will  be  when  earthly  things  are 
put  aside  forever.  Like  the  faint  sound  of  distant  music  came  the 
memory  of  his  words  upon  another  occasion  long  ago — '  /  know ;  / 
understand?  In  that  moment  I  bowed  my  head  to  a  Hand  that 
consecrated  me,  for  this  life,  to  a  work  in  which  I  must  never  feel  the 
sense  of  sacrifice  ;  in  which  I  must  feel  that  the  complete  satisfaction 
of  the  reward  that  will  come  to  me  in  the  life  beyond  will  be 
sufficient  for  any  loss  that  could  be  possible  on  earth. 

"  Then  the  storm  died  away  as  rapidly  as  it  had  come.  The  great 
black  clouds  rolled  slowly  back  and  the  full  moon  was  revealed, 
shining  as  placidly  as  though  material  or  spiritual  tempests  were 
unknown.  Then  he  arose,  his  arm  still  supporting  my  trembling 
form,  and  thus  we  made  our  way  through  the  gorge  and  across  its 
stream  which  had  returned  almost  to  its  usual  insignificance. 

"At  the  doorway  of  the  house  he  clasped  my  hand  firmly  and 
kindly  for  a  brief  instant,  then  saying  only,  '  May  God  bless  you, 
he  turned  away  and  went  out  into  the  night,  alone. 

"Through  the   long  night  I    did    not    close  my  eyes, — I   lived  an 


50 

eternity.     In  the  morning  he  had  returned  to  Santa  Barbara,  whither 
we  all  went  the  same  day. 

"This  morning  he  sailed  for  San  Francisco  on  his  way  to  Spain. 
With  a  brief  word  of  farewell  to  me  he  placed  in  my  hand  a  little 
cluster  of  violets  all  wet  with  rain-drops.  I  pinned  them  on  my 
breast,  where  they  are  resting  now.  I  have  sat  here  by  my  window 
all  day  bravely  struggling  with  a  part  of  my  nature  that  I  must  hence- 
forth hold  in  check  with  the  firm  hand  of  a  master.  All  day  I  have 
realized  only  this,  that  I  shall  never  see  him  again  in  this  life.  The 
clasping  of  his  kindly  hand  must  be  to  me  but  a  memory  henceforth. 
Even  should  I  meet  him  it  must  be  with  the  quiet  exterior  of  a  pass- 
ing acquaintance.  And  yet, — oh,  Kate  !  Kate  !  with  my  soul  strung 
to  an  agony  of  consciousness,  I  know  that  at  one  word  from  him, — 
at  one  glance  of  his  eyes,  the  floodgates  would  be  swept  away 
and  I  could  no  more  stay  the  passionate  surges  of  this  feeling  that 
possesses  me,  than  I  could  check  the  seething  torrent  of  Vesuvius. 
Did  I  hear  his  voice  calling  me,  did  I  feel  the  magnetic  attraction  of 
his  presence  desiring  me,  I  should  go  to  him,  though  from  Heaven  to 
Hell.  I  could  not  stand  alone  against  the  invitation  of  his  hand.  I 
am  not  ashamed  to  tell  you  this,  Kate.  There  is  nothing  in  my 
heart  that  I  would  not  lay  before  the  Mother  of  God.  This  feeling 
is  so  exalted,  so  ennobling,  that  it  places  me  beyond  the  reach  of 
earthly  temptation.  I  can  never  walk  alone,  though  I  tread  the 
wilderness  of  sorrow ;  for,  though  I  shall  never  see  him  in  earth-life, 
yet,  strange  incongruity,  I  can  never  lose  his  presence  from  my  side. 
He  kneels  beside  me  at  every  altar;  he  stands  by  my  side  on  the 
lonely  sea  shore,  when  the  voice  of  God  speaks  from  His  ocean  ;  his 
spirit-hand  responds  to  the  yearning  pressure  of  my  own  in  every 


51 

scene  that  thrills  my  soul  with  joy  or  sorrow  ;  his  eloquent  glance  will 
go  with  me  through  eternity. 

"  Every  pure,  noble  desire  of  my  nature  responds  to  this  man,  as 
a  harp  to  the  hand  of  a  master.  Every  act  of  his — the  strong,  quiet 
grace  of  his  movements — the  dignity  of  his  language — the  almost 
haughtiness  of  his  bearing — are  to  me  the  perfection  of  harmony,  the 
music  of  existence.  Until  this  revelation  came  to  me,  I  could  not 
have  conceived  the  possibility  of  one  human  being  fulfilling  so  com- 
pletely the  highest  ideal  of  another,  as  he  does  to  me. 

"  All  these  things  stand  out  in  my  soul  with  a  distinctness  that  is  tor- 
ture, as  I  sit  here  amid  the  roses  of  Santa  Barbara,  and  feel  that 
every  pulsation  of  Time  bears  him  farther  from  me — away  from  me 
forever.  And  I  ask  of  Fate,  Why  has  this  experience  come  to  me  ? 
Why  have  I  been  called  to  antedate  Eternity,  and  stand  hand- 
clasped  with  that  which  should  have  come  to  me  in  the  Life  beyond 
this?  To-morrow  I  must  take  up  the  burden  of  life  again  !  Oh,  my 
beloved,  pray  for  me  !  AGNES." 

After  this,  in  all  the  letters  that  came  from  her,  this  one  subject 
was  never  mentioned.  Her  life  was  very  full  of  work.  The  months 
glided  by,  until  a  year  had  passed  since  the  date  of  this  last  letter. 
Then  came  a  long  one,  telling  of  Howard's  coming  back.  A  quiet 
divorce  had  been  granted,  and  both  parties  to  this  singular  union 
were  free.  Jennie  had  been  reunited  to  her  old  lover,  Victor  Ellerton, 
soon  after  the  divorce.  And  now  this  long  letter  from  Agnes  de- 
scribed the  marriage  of  Rose  and  Howard,  and  their  departure  for 
their  new  home  in  San  Francisco.  During  the  year,  the  graves  of 
the  two  little  girls  had  been  tenderly  cared  for  by  Rose  ;  and  before 


52 

the  final  departure  for  their  new  home,  she  had  knelt  with  the  father 
by  the  cherished  mounds. 

The  years  wore  on,  and  Paul  and  Mary  needed  greater  educational 
advantages  than  could  be  obtained  in  Santa  Barbara.  The  death  of 
a  relative  left  Agnes  in  a  much  better  financial  condition  than  before.. 
She  was  able  to  fulfill  her  dream  of  a  trip  to  Italy  with  her  children, 
where  she  remained  some  years,  until  they  were  little  ones  no  longer, 
but  a  manly  lad  and  winsome  lass,  who  were  as  devoted  to  their  '  pre- 
cious mamma,'  as  the  most  loving  heart  could  desire.  Then  they 
returned  to  San  Francisco,  where  she  found  her  beloved  Rose  grown 
a  sweet,  matronly  woman,  wearing  most  gracefully  her  crown  of 
maternity ;  and  Howard  very  happy,  with  his  handsome  boys  and 
girls,  while  his  love  for  his  wife  had  but  gained  strength  and  tender- 
ness with  the  flight  of  the  happy  years  of  their  married  life. 

Then  came  rumors  of  the  terrible  ravages  of  cholera  in  Spain,  and 
long  accounts  of  the  noble  conduct  of  one  whose  name  was  a  house- 
hold word  to  the  sorrowing  and  afflicted,  not  alone  in  his  native  city, 
but  beyond  its  walls— Antonio  Carilio.  At  last  came  a  day  when 
this  grand  soldier  in  the  noble  army  of  God  put  off  his  armor,  and 
responded  to  the  summons  of  the  Master  whom  he  had  served  so 
gloriously. 

After  this  the  hold  of  life  seemed  weakened  with  her  ;  and  one 
sweet  June  day  she  folded  her  patient  hands  across  her  pure  heart 
in  the  eternal  rest,  and  her  sorrowing  children  laid  her  tenderly  by 
the  side  of  the  little  baby  that  died  so  many  years  before.  Their 
father  never  returned  to  them,  nor  communicated  with  them.  Before 
her  death  she  asked  Mary  to  send  me  a  package  of  papers,  among 


53 

which  I  found  this  poem,  bearing  date  some  years  after  the  eventful 
parting  at  Santa  Barbara  : 

UN     SUENO     DE     LA     NOG  HE. 

You  decked  my  breast  with  violets  last  night,  — 
Their  haunting  sweetness  thrills  my  pulses  yet  ; 

You  clasped  my  eager  hands  with  warm  caress, 
And  kissed  the  sadness  from  my  eyelids  wet. 

My  soul  is  sad  at  memory  of  your  touch, 

Your  flowers'  rich  fragrance  thrills  my  heart  with  pain  ; 

The  look  of  pitying  kindness  in  your  eyes 
May  never  come  to  gladden  me  again. 

For,  all  the  sweetness  of  that  haunting  scene — 
Your  thrilling  touch — your  violets'  purple  gleam — 

The  glance  of  kindness  from  your  speaking  eyes — 
Were  but  the  offspring  of  a  strange,  sweet  dream. 

I  wake — to  know  your  hand  can  ne'er  clasp  mine 
This  side  of  life — this  side  of  Hope  and  Heaven, — 

To  know  that  not  one  kindly  glance  of  yours 
Must  ever  to  my  longing  eyes  be  given. 

I  wake — to  take  my  burden  up  again, 

Forget  for  one  sweet  hour  of  dreaming  night, — 

My  weary  burden  of  the  heart  and  brain — 
And  do  my  duty  with  my  woman's  might. 

I  would  not  look  upon  your  face  again — 

Your  strong,  grand  face  that  is  a  god's  tc  me- 

I  would  not  hear  the  music  of  your  voice, 
I  would  not  think  of  you,  or  hear  or  see 


54 


One  spoken,  written  word  that  could  recall 
Your  memory.     For  only  thus  to  me 

Can  come  a  strength  to  do  my  daily  work 
For  which  my  spirit  must  be  brave  and  free. 

You  came  into  my  life  for  one  brief  hour, 
Strong,  noble,  grand  as  any  god  could  be  ; 

And  all  the  currents  of  my  being's  tide — 

And  life  itself,  henceforth  were  changed  to  me. 

Yoa  came — and  passed.     Now  never  more  to  me 
Can  come  the  clasping  of  your  firm,  true  hand, 

Must  shine  the  glory  of  your  eloquent  eyes, — 
No  more  to  me,  this  side  the  Heavenly  Land. 

I  pray  for  strength.     I  would  be  firm  and  brave 

To  put  your  very  memory  away  ; 
I  pray  for  strength,  and  it  is  granted  me 

To  meet  the  burdens  of  the  toilful  day. 

Hut  in  the  dreaming  mystery  of  Night 

Such  visions  come  sometimes  of  bliss  and  pain. 

That  with  the  dawning  of  another  day 

The  hard-won  battle  must  be  fought  again. 

And  yet — until  the  soul  shall  pass  the  bridge 
That  spans  the  mystic  gulf  from  shore  to  shore, 

There  must  remain  between  my  soui  and  yours 
The  eloquence  of  silence — evermore. 


